


School AU of Epicness

by Amateur_Warden



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, But only up until the start of the game, Des is too thirsty, Just a little tho, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, sorry for the third-rate smut later I was never very good at it, underage for a little bit?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9510857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amateur_Warden/pseuds/Amateur_Warden
Summary: Inspired by that sketch by Doubleleaf, “detention2”, idk where it is now I think it was removed? But anyway. Started out as a fic for that and got too long. School AU, goes all the way to the beginning of AC1. Hope you enjoy! Written before we knew Shaun's birthday! So yeah he's a bit old, oh well. Repost from fanfic.net.





	1. Dr. Hastings is Damn Awesome

Desmond Miles, age seventeen, was a difficult child. It was difficult to get him to care about anything, let alone have the motivation to actually pursue an interest.

It was perplexing that he seemingly had no desire for _anything,_ and yet, he did well in school, had friends, and had fun with the other, sometimes younger kids around the complex. It seemed he simply had no desire to follow directions, and even deliberately disobeyed them. He was his own man, from the start.

To those who didn’t know him it may have seemed this way. But to those who actually _looked_ , they could tell that he was actually interested in a variety of things. Sports were a given favorite, but he wasn’t much of a team player, so he never joined any teams. He was content with the simple roughhousing of teenage boys. He enjoyed science, and math was okay, but he especially enjoyed music. And psychology. And history. Shit, he enjoyed most of the subjects he studied. He just couldn’t choose one. And so, it made him seem like he didn’t care for anything.

It seemed nothing would catch his eye, and he would be forced to study _anything_ and _everything_ in college, until the first day of his senior year. The day had been rather slow and unproductive, what with it being the first day (the teachers insisted on explaining every little detail about the course, and there was always THAT GUY that asked a ton of questions, and they couldn’t leave until the bell rang even if there was nothing to say, and shit, his schedule was messed up again for the second year in a row), and he was just about ready to either pass out or flip some tables. Though the former would most likely happen because he didn’t like to stick out and cause trouble. And so he dragged his feet to his last class and flopped down in his chair, lazily slumping down onto his desk. Luckily for him, no one liked to sit in the front and he didn’t mind doing so, so he always had his seat in class right in the front row. That way, he could slump down and pretend he was asleep, and he’d always be sitting by the smart kids. It was fool-proof, save for the slumping down part that would always earn him dirty looks. Whatever. Logic was for smart people.

The teacher was someone he’d had before, so he wasn’t terribly worried about this class. The man taught both Freshman year history, and Senior year, so he knew what to expect. He really didn’t know what the big deal was, it really wasn’t hard to pass classes. If people just did the work, they’d do well, and—

“Welcome, class of 2005. This is US History II. If you’re not a senior, or you’re otherwise not enrolled in this class, I suggest you raise your hand now and figure out where you’re supposed to go.”

Desmond lifted his head just far enough to look over his shoulder. No one was raising their hand, so it seemed everyone was in the right class. Desmond put his head back down and just listened. The man went on. “Either we’re all in the right place, or you’re too embarrassed to admit it. No matter. My name is Dr. Hastings, though if it makes you incredibly uncomfortable, you may call me ‘mister’.” He began pacing slowly in front of the room. Desmond figured he probably shouldn’t look like a _complete_ slacker, so he pulled his head out of his arms to where Mr. Hastings could see his eyes were open. The man looked exactly the same as he did three years ago, in his plain sweaters and general cool demeanor.

“Some of you may remember me from your Freshman year, of course, but I’ll warn you now that this will not be the same class. You’re almost adults now and I’ll expect you to behave and perform as such.”

Desmond could live with that. Though he was sure a lot of the others wouldn’t.

The man went on. “Now, if there aren’t any questions, I’d like to get onto business.” Someone raised their hand in the back, and he nodded to them. “Yes?”

“So, are you from England?” Someone asked. Desmond just put his face back down in his arms, ashamed of his colleagues.

Mr. Hastings blinked. He frowned, and actually stopped talking. He stared incredulously at the student, then blinked again, and wiped the look off his face, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Right, is there anyone with a question that’s _not_ stupid?”

The girl looked at him in complete disbelief. Desmond was surprised, and couldn’t help but chuckle into his arms. Another guy tried to defend her. “Hey, you can’t just call your students stupid.” There were numerous voices of assent at this.

Mr. Hastings scowled, then rubbed his forehead. “Right… Look, I know you may think it ‘mean’ of me, but I don’t deal with that kind of nonsense. Like I said, you are close to being adults, and I hope dearly that you can handle a little criticism. Now, I know you’re probably not used to this, but I expect to cover the entire span of history between pre-Civil War and the present… so we’d better start now. Everyone pull out some note paper and a writing utensil, or just continue to sit there uselessly while I prattle on about things you don’t give one whit about.” He went to write on the chalkboard while people stared in confusion.

It was after that moment that Desmond noticed an exciting change. This class might actually interest him, to the point of inspiring a career. And even if it doesn’t, he’ll have a damn interesting teacher.

 


	2. Frustrations, anyone?

The first thing Desmond noticed what that this class was _hard_. His other classes could never measure up to this sort of difficulty. His first progress report two weeks into the semester was graced with a d-minus—his lowest grade to date. Needless to say, good ol’ Bill Miles wasn’t pleased. After a venomous lecture about how he had better get it in gear, he was forced to stay after school and get help. Desmond didn’t fight back anymore. If staying after school meant he didn’t have to deal with his father’s unwarranted hostilities, then all the better for him.

At first, Dr. Hastings (Dr. Hastings. That means I’ve got a bloody PhD! I’ve got a _right_ to be a pompous bastard.) was reluctant to offer up his precious time to tutor students. They would come in expecting him to offer up grade-changing advice (such as, do your bloody homework, slacker), and be right on their way once they thought it was enough. But when Desmond came in every day after school, unflinchingly, he began to wonder if this kid actually cared about the class. As in he wasn’t just in it for a grade. Desmond would ask thought-provoking questions that even _he_ had to think about before answering. Oh, what would the country be like if the South had succeeded in their secession? Let me just hypothesize about this for a few hours, why don’t you? No, I can’t give you a straight answer, because I’m not bloody omniscient, boy. It was incredibly frustrating sometimes. But refreshingly so.

As for Desmond’s grade, it immediately saw a positive change. After three weeks of tutoring, he’d brought it back up to his usual B. He was pretty happy about that, but the real perk was not having to go home right away. And if he decided he had a ton of homework and Dad shouldn’t bother him, he could sit out in the barn and read. And Bill wouldn’t trouble him as long as he was working. Well, not as much. He was still bothered, but having good grades made it less often. But staying at school as long as possible was definitely a good idea.

So even after his grade was brought to an A, Desmond continued to stay after class, just to make sure he had everything correct. Or maybe just to talk, and have an intelligent conversation with someone who somewhat appreciated him - someone with a really nice British accent that he just couldn’t get enough of.

Oh god, he wasn’t really doing this for _that_ , was he?

He tried to keep this realization quiet one day as Mr. Hastings described the factors of the Confederacy’s defeat. He was either really good at hiding his feelings, or the guy was oblivious to anything that wasn’t history. He was safe. So for the time being he tried to focus on _what_ the man was saying, and not how incredibly sexy he sounded when he said it.

Fuck.

He figured it was just a useless crush, and he’d get over it. It didn’t stop him from enjoying it while it lasted, though.

 

\--

 

Mr. Hastings found himself looking forward to someone to talk to during his long hours after school. He elected to stay because, well, when you give out tons of bloody assignments, they expect you to grade them. And there was no way he was going to take them home. So while he went through and failed as many papers as he passed, he helped this one shining student, well, shine. Yeah. Why the devil did this kid care so much? Seriously, he’d never encountered a single student that had shown this much interest in bloody American history. Sure, there were those above-average students that were all about their perfect straight-A record, but they’d never… it was strange. And nice. If he wasn’t careful, he’d have an expert to talk about this stuff to. How frightening.

After a couple months of near-perfect test scores, Shaun began to wonder. Really, if Desmond already knew all there was to know about the bloody subject, why didn’t he go out and have fun like a normal teenager? Seriously, Shaun remembered the horrors of public school, and even _he_ looked forward to getting the hell out of there at the end of the day, regardless of his interest in the subject. He wondered if he should encourage Desmond to do the same. Really, he was flattered that the kid wanted to spend this much time with him, but it didn’t seem entirely… appropriate.

… Wait, why?

He blinked, frowning. Why would he think that…? He shook his head. Desmond was asking a particularly difficult question again, and he was supposed to have an answer.

At the end of the day (bloody hell it was almost six!), he decided to man up and… mention it. Yeah. He really hated to do it, but it was for Desmond’s own good as a social human being that he go out and talk to other people.

After he explained something and Desmond was pondering it, he decided that if the conversation should go awry and awkward and all the things he’d rather avoid but _couldn’t_ , then it would be slightly _less_ awkward if Desmond left right now. Yeah. Here goes. He cleared his throat.

“Look, Mr. Miles… You come in here almost every day for help, and yet you’re doing perfectly fine on the assignments and exams. You don’t even need my help. Are you just coming in here to bask in my radiating genius?”

Desmond’s eyes widened slightly, then he frowned, looking almost ashamed. “No, I…” He paused for a moment, frantically searching his brain for the right words to say. “I just… don’t want to go home.” He frowned at the floor, twiddling his thumbs.

Shaun instantly realized that Desmond was, in fact, quite serious. He frowned, sitting forward in his chair and giving Desmond his full attention. “… Is there something going on at home?”

Desmond looked up, a little surprised. “N-No, not really. I just… don’t get along well with my dad. And I like to avoid conflict, so I make excuses not to go home.” He frowned, looking to the side. “And I didn’t wanna just walk around because that’s boring, so…” He didn’t mention that half the reason was just to listen to his voice, but yeah. He looked up with uncertainty, a little hopeful…?

Shaun frowned, then looked at his own twiddling thumbs. “… I see.” He paused. There wasn’t really anything serious going on at home, so he couldn’t intervene in any way. Not that he’d really want to in the first place, but… There was one little thing he could to do help.

“Well, considering how well you’re doing in this class, I won’t make you do tutoring assignments anymore. But… if you feel the need to make yourself useful, I have plenty of papers to fail if you like.” He smirked.

Desmond grinned. Problem solved.

And so all was well. Desmond was happy to help out, since that meant Shaun could focus more on radiating his genius and all that. And spewing more of that British talk all over him.

It wasn’t going away, was it? That nagging little crush that he fantasized about all too often, just wishing the man would throw him up against the wall and ravage him—

Yeeeah. Perfectly justifiable teenage thoughts. Nothing to be ashamed of. He groaned inwardly as he listened to Mr. Hasting’s perfect voice. He wished the man would just call him _Desmond,_ not that ‘Mr. Miles’ bullshit.

It was getting out of hand. He could barely concentrate when the man talked. If he didn’t do something about it now, it was gonna get _really_ awkward. So he did the most logical thing.

“Hey, uh… Mr. Hastings?”

The Brit glanced up from his work absently. “Yes?” He was confused as to why Desmond would address him with such uncertainty.

Desmond shifted uncomfortably. “I uh… I don’t think I can stay after as much anymore. I’m kinda sucking in my math class, and my dad is nagging at me to get a job.” He frowned in distaste.

Shaun scowled. He couldn’t help but feel a little cheated. Cheated? Was that the word he was looking for? That was a little unwarranted, wasn’t it? He shrugged the look off his face and looked up. “I see. If you’re struggling in another class, it would be logical to study more of _that_ , and spend less time basking in my intellect.”

Desmond looked almost hurt. “Yeah… I’m really sorry. I’ve tried really hard, but I just don’t get it. And with Dad…” He shook his head. “I’ll be fine, sorry. I didn’t just wanna stop coming though, and make you think I didn’t care…”

Shaun smirked humourlessly. “Don’t worry, I’ll manage. It’s not your job to help me, it’s your job to be educated! And if you’re having trouble with that, make that your priority. I suggest you run over to your teacher’s room before they leave.”

Desmond nodded, hurriedly. “Y-Yeah, sorry!” He turned and rushed out of the room.

Shaun scowled. He shouldn’t be feeling neglected. It wasn’t the kid’s bloody job to keep him company. Maybe if he ever made an attempt to connect with the other teachers, or with other _people_ really, he’d have some friends. He sighed in frustration. That was his problem. He’d figure it out after this stack of papers.

 

 


	3. See Me After Class, Da Vinci

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the sketch actually comes into play in this chapter. WHOO. Just wanna ensure that this is entirely consensual even tho Shaun clearly skates that line at the beginning. Also sorry the smut ain't that great, I have since realized it's not for me. ENJOY ANYWAY.

After a couple months of continued solitude, Shaun realized that Desmond wasn’t coming back. He also noticed how difficult it had been to avoid failing students for little inaccuracies that hardly mattered in the scope of the assignment. His mood was _completely_ out of whack, and there was no logical—let alone _fair_ explanation for it. It was because something in his life had changed, and he didn’t like it.

So then, had his feelings been warranted, after all? Was he attracted to someone that was underage? In all fairness, the boy was almost an adult, and was just as tall and physically matured as _he_ was, but regardless… He didn’t want to think about that right then. It didn’t help that he’d noticed Desmond frequently spacing out during lecture, and how the teenager would avoid eye contact as much as possible. He still kept his grade up, but that could only be with an unheard of amount of effort. The kid just didn’t pay attention in class, anymore!

He tried to push the thought from his mind. It was childish that he’d let something like that get to him. He wasn’t bloody _special—_ he was a teacher. Desmond had needed help, and now he could do the rest on his own. He didn’t _have_ to waste his time listening to Shaun blather on about the Great War if he didn’t bloody want to. And as a teacher, a _professional,_ he wouldn’t provoke any sort of obligation.

Luckily for him, he’d always had a relatively bitter demeanor about him, and the students hardly noticed the change. He conducted class just as well as before, only having to further suppress any urge to strangle them. And Miles _still_ wouldn’t bloody look at him. It was as if Desmond were ignoring him, or pretending he wasn’t even there half the time. A once very engaged listener now had more fun drawing on the desk than listening about—

… Drawing on the desk?

… No, that was a terrible idea, Hastings. Don’t even think about it. Stop it, stop, don’t—oh, the hell with it. Shaun walked casually over to Desmond’s conveniently-chosen front-row seat, still spouting his lecture to any who would listen. Then, without breaking rhythm, he folded his arms in front of his chest, and spoke—

“See me after class, Da Vinci.”

—and kept on with his lecture, coolly pacing around as he usually did.

As for Desmond, he looked slightly red in the face. Shaun wasn’t sure if it was from being caught, but he very much hoped it was something else.

 

\--

 

Desmond seriously hadn’t even noticed drawing on the desk until it was too late, he was so absent-minded. He was exhausted from studying long into the morning, and he’d just sort of let his mind wander. What it wandered to he couldn’t speak of. When Mr. Hastings had addressed him, his stomach dropped, and his mind raced, trying to figure out why the hell he would be in trouble—then he noticed the drawing of a nice stick-figure of the teacher with a cheesy grin on its face.

… Oh. Da Vinci, he’d said. Clever.

So he was in trouble for drawing on the desk. He frowned. Wasn’t that a bit much? He didn’t make Mr. Hastings out to be such a hardass about that stuff… but whatever. He then realized that meant he had to stay behind and _talk_ to him, and hear his voice, and stand in his presence… he groaned inwardly. This was gonna be difficult. Worse than his tests. Worse than having to listen to him just so he could understand the friggen material.

By the end of the class period, his nerves had calmed. His mind would still conjure up the most irritatingly-arousing images of the man, but at least he wouldn’t show it. He might have to run to his room when he got home, but at least everything was fine for now.

He waited until the other students left before approaching Mr. Hasting’s desk. “You wanted to see me…?” He said it as if he didn’t already know why.

Mr. Hastings looked up from tidying his pile of assignments he’d just collected. “Ah, yes. I believe you already know why.” He looked slightly disappointed, and Desmond frowned. Was it really that bad? Seriously? “I _never_ would have expected this from you. Defacing public property is a crime, Mr. Miles.”

Desmond’s frown turned sheepish. “Yeah… I really didn’t intend to deface it—it was just absent-mindedness. I’ll clean it, if you want.”

Mr. Hastings raised an eyebrow. “Of course you will. And you’ll clean off all the other desks as well, since I’m _positive_ I didn’t catch everyone. There are paper towels in the corner over there that you can use, and such. Make them squeaky-clean.” He went back to his work.

Desmond sighed. As soon as he got this done, the sooner he could get out of here. He grabbed a paper towel, wet it, and went to work.

Why the hell did shit have to be so complicated? He used to enjoy every minute of being in Mr. Hastings’ company. Now, he couldn’t wait to get the hell out. Why did he have to love that voice so much? That ridiculous intellect? And that ass that he could practically reach out and grab while Mr. Hastings stood writing at the board—shit. Why couldn’t he just fantasize about someone he could actually _do_ something about? Like that girl, Shannon? She seemed cool enough. Why didn’t he ask her out? He had a hell of a lot better chance with her than with his friggen teacher. Fucking hell. He had to think about something else. Like, war. And dead people. That was a rather effective turn-off. Yeah. He kept working, focusing on all the material he’d studied that early morning.

It was quiet in the classroom while Desmond worked, and Shaun graded papers, except for his occasional grunt of disapproval at a particularly idiotic mistake. Desmond finished relatively quickly, spending most of his time on one desk in the corner where someone decided to write an obscene word in PEN… He tossed the dirty towel in the trash and made his way back to Mr. Hasting’s desk, awkwardly. “Uh… I finished.”

Shaun looked up. “Ah, really? That’s wonderful. Now we can start the next stage of your punishment.”

Desmond frowned. “There’s more…?”

Shaun smirked. “Of course. The cleaning part was simply to reverse the damage you caused. This next part is the actual punishment. Now, I’ve never been a fan of punishment used to change behavior, but…” He fixed his glasses. “I think if you hammer this idea into your head hard enough, you’ll never forget it. I want you to write ‘I will not doodle on desks’, one hundred times. Use all the boards, if you have to.”

Desmond stared in disbelief. “… You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Desmond thought for a moment. “Well, isn’t it a waste of chalk?”

Shaun waved him off. “Oh no, we get plenty of chalk. It’s one of the few things we never run out of. Well, what are you waiting for?” He kept working, barely showing Desmond any acknowledgement.

Desmond continued to frown in confusion, then shook his head, grabbed a piece of chalk, and started writing. What the hell was the point of all this? It seemed like Mr. Hastings was deliberately wasting his time. Either that, or he was just really anal about keeping the room clean. Desmond groaned inwardly (he did that a lot, lately). He just wanted to get out of here, he had shit to do today! At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Anything to get his mind off that man behind him—He looked up at his work, trying to figure out how many more he had left. He squinted, counting each one. It took much longer than it needed to because he kept losing count on account of being horribly sleep-deprived.

“You forget how to count, Miles?”

Desmond’s stomach dropped at being addressed once again. How was he so out of it today? He was a mess of nerves, and Mr. Hastings was sure to notice soon—

“You’ve got ten in each column, then four in the next. You’ve got sixty-seven left. Just keep putting ten in a row like that and you won’t lose count.” Shaun went back to his work.

“Y-Yeah…” _Just stop talking, please!_ He worked faster, sacrificing penmanship for a chance at getting out of there without embarrassing himself further.

But Mr. Hastings was oblivious to Desmond’s thoughts (as he should be!) and he continued to make conversation. “You know, there are no other teachers in the building. They all like to go home and spend time with their wives, and such. I never quite understood it...”

Desmond decided it was way too awkward to avoid conversation, and he just hoped his body would cooperate with his wishes. “What, you don’t like to spend time with your wife?” He played casual again, hoping that conversation would come as easily as it had before. All he had to do was survive this one day.

Shaun frowned. “I… don’t have one. Bloody hell, I don’t look _that_ old, do I?”

Desmond raised an eyebrow. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five, for your information.”

Desmond laughed. “No, you don’t look old.”

“Good.”

“You seem awfully defensive about it.”

“Well, I don’t want to be thought of as anything different than what I am.”

Desmond smirked. “Don’t worry, I’m just messing with you.”

If he’d turned around, he’d have seen Shaun pout slightly, frowning. “Don’t do that. People won’t think as highly of me if they think I got my PhD anytime after I was twenty-five.”

Desmond continued to smile. It was coming to him just as well as before, it seemed. It wasn’t quite as comfortable, for obvious reasons, but it was bearable. Not to mention how he’d missed visiting, and this was just an excuse to do so without any negative repercussions. And by ‘negative repercussions’ he meant the guilt of abandoning his favorite teacher to solitude, since he’d thoroughly cut that off a while ago. Yeah. No guilt at all. Why was he still thinking about this? Back to thinking about dead people. If he didn’t quit it, he was gonna be real embarrassed when—

“You know, there _is_ no one else in the building.”

Desmond frowned. He’d just said that, right? “Yeah…?” Mr. Hastings had gotten up and started rearranging books in a shelf near Desmond. Probably taking a break from grading terribly-written papers, or something. He didn’t understand where this was going.

“… That means no one will hear you if you scream.”

Desmond stopped writing. Did he seriously just…? Seriously? What the hell was that supposed to mean!? His mind raced. Mr. Hastings had to be fucking with him. He couldn’t figure out why, though. “… What’s that supposed to mean?”

He had to be fucking with him. Had to. There’d be no other reason for him to suddenly get up and wrap his arms around Desmond’s waist, and slip them up under his hoodie, and whisper in his ear. “That means I can do whatever I want with you.”

Desmond shuddered. The terrible thing was that he couldn’t tell if it was from discomfort, or from the complete and utter pleasure of hearing that voice whisper dirty things in his ear. Did he seriously just say that? Was this actually happening? Or did he pass out somewhere in the hall from sleep-deprivation? He decided to play it cool, hoping he didn’t embarrass himself too much. “I… never pegged you as this type of guy…” He gasped as Mr. Hastings breathed on his neck. His mouth was _right there._ Holy shit, it almost felt real.

Mr. Hastings continued to feel him up, nipping at his neck and shoulder. “You’re not gonna tell on me, are you?” He paused for a moment. “You can if you want to. I hate my job, anyway.” He bit Desmond’s neck a little harder, getting a little more adventurous.

Desmond hesitated. He’d just confirmed it. Mr. Hastings was molesting him, quite on purpose. This shit was real. And now the man was unzipping his hoodie, getting ready to do God-knows-what to him. And he was saying he could _tell on him? He had given Desmond the power to say no, but... Seriously!?_ No fucking way. “What if… I don’t want to…?”

Desmond couldn’t see it from his position, but Shaun grinned evilly. “… Well then, that’s good for us both, isn’t it?”

Desmond shuddered as Shaun undid his pants, sliding his hand lower and _lower oh god_ he was _so_ glad that no one else was in the building. It was all he could do to keep from screaming just from the joy he was feeling. Or was it being masked by the fact that his sexy history teacher was touching his fucking _cock?_ And that it felt _amazing?_ He really didn’t give a damn at the moment. His brain was just about turned to jelly, and he barely registered the words that came out of Shaun’s mouth.

“Keep writing.”

… What?

Shaun stopped moving, which was torture for the one he was holding. “This is your punishment. You’re still not finished with that.” He nodded at the board.

Desmond wanted to cry right there. How could this man expect him to focus while those hands were all over him? It wasn’t fair. All he did was doodle on the desk because he’s been so utterly _obsessed_ with the man for the past few _months_ and all he really wanted was to get fucked over a desk or some shit—he raised his hand and kept writing. There was no fighting it. Mr. Hastings always got his way.

Shaun grinned wryly, and continued to feel up his best student. How the bloody hell had it come to this? What the devil had made him think this was a good idea? He could have gotten bloody _fired,_ and then where would he be? All for a simple attraction? It was completely and utterly ridiculous.

And yet, it had worked out fine. Lucky him. Well, and lucky Desmond, from the looks of it. He slid his hand along Desmond’s hard member, slowly, torturously slow. He didn’t want to go too fast, after all. He was just about to whisper something rather lewd when Desmond gasped, snapping the chalk in half with the great pressure he put behind it. He hid his face in his sleeve, tense and unmoving except for his erratic breathing.

Shaun raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You’re not _done_ , are you?”

Desmond lifted his head and half-turned his head to address the man. “N-No, but… Look, are… Are you seriously just gonna just stand there touching me inappropriately, or…?”

Oh. So he wanted more. This was _much_ better than he’d expected. He breathed along Desmond’s neck. “You are of legal age, yes?”

Desmond frowned. “N-No, I turn eighteen in March. Why?”

“Because, it’s rather frigid in here, and I was hoping to warm it up a bit. How unfortunate.”

Dread filled the pit of Desmond’s stomach. No way. He couldn’t, not when he was already this far. He was just about braindead from all the endorphins shooting off in his brain (how the hell could he even define that word right now? Seriously.) and there was no way in hell he was gonna pass this up. He gulped, his nerves suddenly acting up again. “… How about… I-I don’t tell if you don’t?”

He felt Shaun grin into his neck. “Oh, you’re naughty. Do I have to punish you some more?”

Desmond tried not to sound desperate. He probably failed. “… P-Please?”

Shaun bit his ear, earning a gasp from his student. The whole thing was crazy. But who was going to care? He didn’t have to bloody justify his lust for human contact if he didn’t bloody want to. He pulled his hands out of Desmond’s pants and took him by the waist. “Come here.”

He guided Desmond over to his desk, pushed aside a couple of stacks of assignments, and bent him over. He went back to running his hands over Desmond’s hard abs, exploring the marvels that he’d never before been able to see, let alone touch. Desmond grabbed the far edge of the desk, breathing erratically in anticipation. Shaun nipped at his neck and ear as he slowly slipped his hand back into Desmond’s pants to grasp his member again. Desmond stuffed his face in his sleeve again, and failed to stifle a desperate moan. Shaun grinned, grinding his quickly hardening erection up against Desmond’s ass (gods, even his ass was perfect, just like he’d imagined), earning him another, more inhibited moan.

“You know, you don’t have to hold yourself back,” he breathed into Desmond’s ear. “There’s no one else in the building.” He ran his hand up and down Desmond’s cock, tantalizingly slow.

Desmond moaned loudly into his arm, as if accepting this fact. Shit, Mr. Hastings had his hand in his pants, and was stroking his fucking _dick_ —He wasn’t gonna _care_ if Desmond moaned like a little bitch. Fuck, the man was doing things to him that he’d never even imagined before. Sure, he was a horny teenager and he’d done this himself numerous times before, but it had never in his _life_ been this amazing. He had no idea where the sudden longing for dick in his ass had come from, but it was just about the greatest thing he could ever want at the moment. “P-Please…” he gasped. “Mr. Hastings—“ he cried out as his teacher squeezed him, cutting him off.

Shaun nipped at his ear. “Call me Shaun.”

Desmond gasped, and answered weakly. “Sh-Shaun, please…”

Shaun tried not to react physically to that pleading voice, and went on. “Jesus, you sound like a bloody virgin. Don’t tell me you are?”

Desmond responded slightly frustrated. “S-So what if I am…?”

Shaun’s eyes widened. “Serious? You’re in the rare percent that manage to keep their virginity past the age of sixteen.”

“I grew up on a farm, gimme a break--!” Desmond looked like he was about to explode. "Can we not talk about that? You're killing the mood." 

Shaun couldn’t resist taking it a little further. “You could have hidden it a little better. I mean, it was obvious.”

“Fuck you.”

“In a minute, love.” He grinned evilly.

“Fuck, Shaun—hurry up, already!” Desmond pleaded. This was the worst kind of torture. Desmond would have done anything at that moment, just to be relieved from that painfully overpowering arousal.

Shaun smirked, and took the hand that had been groping at Desmond’s nipple out of his shirt, and started wetting his own fingers. “I don’t usually go around carrying a bottle of lube to my classes, so I haven’t got any with me. You’ll have to make do with what we have.”

Desmond had to think hard before it registered in his head that he’d be taking it dry. “… F-Fuck…” he choked out, weakly. He didn’t exactly know how that would feel, but he figured it would be uncomfortable. But in exchange for Shaun’s skilled fingers and hopefully just as skilled cock, he would just about do anything.

Shaun finished, hoping he wasn’t about to scar the poor kid for life. That would really reflect badly on his teaching career, and whatever relationship he would have with Desmond after this. Tearing open his ass would just be the _best_ way to end it, right? He tried not to sound _too_ concerned as he spoke. “Are you ready?”

It was probably unnecessary, considering how desperate Desmond was, sprawled across his desk and panting like he was. “Y-Yeah…”

Shaun didn’t waste any more time, and he pulled Desmond’s pants down over that perfect ass. He gently probed Desmond’s entrance before sliding his middle finger in all the way. Desmond tensed under him, gasping in pain, and he waited. “Are you okay?” It was all he could do not to fuck him senseless right there. He kept telling himself that would be a terrible thing to do, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to control himself.

Desmond laid there for a few seconds before responding. “Y-Yeah…” He hissed in pain, _totally_ not expecting that. “Just… go slow, okay? Fuck…” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to bear with it because he was so fucking _horny_ at the same time.

Shaun leaned forward and breathed in his ear again as he slid his finger in and out. “Whatever you say, princess.”

Desmond bit into his arm, his brain overloading from both the pleasure of being unbelievably turned on, the pain of having a fucking _finger_ in his ass, and the sound of that absurdly sexy voice in his ear. He moaned in pain, and frowned. “Princess—?”

“It’s a term of endearment, love.” Shaun bit his neck, and continued his prepping, hopefully distracting Desmond from the pain. Desmond just shuddered, moaning into his sleeve, almost like he was ashamed to show his face. Shaun could see half of it at least. The sight only served to increase the strain on his own erection. “Christ, Desmond…”

Desmond panted. “What?” He felt that the pain was growing more tolerable, and the feeling of Shaun’s finger fucking his ass was… good. Actually really good. He couldn’t explain why it only hurt before, but it was quickly becoming more and more pleasant. Not only that, but the _thought_ of something fucking him in the ass was almost enough to make him come right there. He moaned loudly into his arm, whatever self-consciousness he had before slowly dissipating.

Shaun fought against his own arousal and smirked against Desmond’s neck. “Oddly receptive, for a virgin.”

Desmond whimpered with frustration into his arm. “Fuck you.”

“Like I said.” Shaun added another finger to pacify the young man, and instead earned a hiss of pain from him. Desmond turned his head to look back.

“Aren’t you done yet--?” He looked angry, but in a sort of weak and pitiful way.

Shaun smirked humourlessly, slightly annoyed. “If I don’t prepare you properly, it’ll hurt a whole lot more.”

Desmond whimpered, and stuffed his face back into his sleeve. Shaun worked only as fast as Desmond could take without too much pain, which happened to be TOO BLOODY SLOW. Shaun was _dying_ , for Christ’s sake! He found himself taking out his frustration by leaving little teeth marks on Desmond’s shoulders and neck. The poor boy might have to hide a few of them, he mused. Once he’d stretched Desmond’s entrance enough, and the teen was moaning like a little virgin again, he decided it was his turn. “Alright, I’m done.”

“H-Hurry then…”

That completely submissive tone might have sent Shaun right over the edge, had he not had such _incredible_ composure. But he was done waiting, and he unzipped his own pants, freeing his own aching erection. He tried not to sigh with relief like a bloody virgin. He spat in his hand, and rubbed it down his length. “It might hurt, but it’ll get better.”

“Yeah, I know, hurry!” Desmond was pleading again. Time to shut him up. Or make him scream, whatever happened.

Shaun pressed into him gently, forcing himself to slow down. When there were no cries of pain, he sped up a little, and pressed all the way inside. He panted, the pressure around his cock almost constricting. This is why he never fucked virgins. He heard Desmond moan loudly, as if he had been trying to hold it back, but couldn’t any longer. He smirked. “You alright?”

Desmond would have glared at him if he had the energy. “Shut. _Up_. And fuck me. Now.” Each word was punctuated by an intake of breath.

Shaun would have commented on how cute it sounded when Desmond tried to give orders, but he thought it better to just fuck him senseless. He pulled out a ways, then thrust back in, earning a sharp moan from the student. He pulled out again, faster than last time, and thrust back in, starting up a slow rhythm. He breathed heavily as waves of pleasure shot through him with every thrust, listening to the moans of his student underneath him.

Desmond couldn’t possibly have imagined the intense pleasure he could possibly feel from getting fucked in the ass by his sexy, British teacher. There was nothing in the universe that could compare with it, and so his frame of reference was nonexistent. It wasn’t long before he was a moaning mess, biting into his sleeve, and gripping the edge of the desk with his other, knuckles white. He found himself moaning Shaun’s name for some reason, as if that would somehow prolong the extreme pleasure he was feeling. With every thrust, it built up more and more, until he could literally not think straight. All he could do was lie there and chant Shaun’s name, and somehow the teacher had found a spot inside him to hit that felt even _more_ amazing than usual, and he cried out in pleasure.

Shaun smirked when he heard that ecstatic cry, meaning he’d found the angle he’d been looking for. Regrettably, he wasn’t going to last very long at this rate, and he didn’t want dear Desmond to outlast him. So he’d give the teen the most explosive bloody orgasm of his life if he had to. He reached around and took hold of Desmond’s cock again, and began to pump him in time with his thrusts.

If Desmond thought he was inarticulate before, it was nothing compared to now. He was reduced to simply gasping and moaning as he felt his climax approaching. A deep heat gathered below his stomach as relentless waves of pleasure assaulted his entire body. His moans grew increasingly louder and higher pitched, and when he finally came, he shouted in ecstasy.

Shaun gritted his teeth, then moaned out his own climax seconds later. He thrust a few more times, forcing out residual waves of pleasure as Desmond quieted himself to merely gasping. Shaun panted, and pulled out of him, grabbing a tissue from his desk and cleaning them both up before there were any awkward objections. He zipped up his pants and went over to wash his hand, since Desmond had come pretty much all over it.

Desmond lay there for a few seconds before forcing himself up again, pulling his hoodie back around himself and making himself look presentable. He stared at his teacher from across the room, wondering what the hell to do next. He sat awkwardly on Shaun’s desk until Shaun turned around, drying his hands with a paper towel. He asked, “What would you have done… if I pulled away? What if I’d said I was gonna tell?”

Shaun paused, and threw away the towel, walking back over to him. “ … Well then I’d have pulled away and acted like it never happened, and it would be incredibly awkward between us for the rest of the year. And then I’d probably quit my job because I hate it anyway, and I’d have a hell of a time finding another one.” He frowned unhappily.

Desmond stares at him in disbelief. “… You’re lucky.”

Shaun smirked, rather pleased with himself. “I know.”

Desmond shook his head, smiling. He looked back up, a little hesitant. “So uh… Does this mean you like me, or something?”

Shaun stared for a moment, then chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Desmond beamed. He must have realized how silly he looked, because he shook his head and cleared his throat. “Ahem—Well, uh… Can I kiss you?”

Shaun chuckled, and leaned in. “Yeah.”

Desmond took hold of Shaun’s tie and pulled him into a deep kiss, which was only deepened in response. They might have kept going like that and gone into another sex-frenzy had Shaun not pulled away, panting.

“Aren’t you sore?”

Desmond panted, blushing. “Y-Yeah, a little.”

“You need a break. I’d love to keep your company forever, but I might break you.”

Desmond blushed harder. “Y-Yeah… I’d better get home.”

“You need a ride?”

Desmond shook his head. “Nah, I’ve got my bike. And dad might suspect something. He’s paranoid.”

Shaun’s smirk took on a little more genuine look, as if he were actually _happy_ for once. How weird. “Alright. Then I suppose I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See ya.” Desmond waved, and left.

Shaun didn’t get much grading done that night.

 

 


	4. I Needs Me Some Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought this was all fluff? Well. You're about 80 percent right. Have some sadness.

After that day, they decided having sexual relations in the classroom was probably not a good idea, and therefore they never had any time to have such things. It was incredibly frustrating, but that’s why guys have hands. Ohhh yes. It was nowhere near as great as Shaun could do, but Desmond didn’t have many options. He couldn’t stay out too late since his dad was paranoid, and he’d probably call the math teacher to see if he was going to tutoring after school, and not making out with his history teacher in his car.

Yeeeah. They did that. But only sometimes, since Desmond had tutoring. It sounded so incredibly wrong, but once you thought about it, there really wasn’t anything wrong with it. The major problem was that it was inappropriate for a teacher to have any sort of relation with a student. Shaun was incredibly paranoid about this (he had been ready and willing to give it all away before, but now that he didn’t have to he was determined to keep his shitty job at all costs), and this was the reason they could never meet. Desmond had to think of something to get around this, before he died from neglect.

He waited for all other students to leave the room before approaching the desk. Shaun kept up with his paperwork, not even looking up. “Is there something you need?”

Desmond shifted anxiously. “… Not that I _need,_ per se…”

Shaun rubbed his temples. “I know what you want. I thought we had an agreement.”

“Please?” Desmond pleaded.

“I really can’t risk it.” Shaun still didn’t look up.

“But I’m dying.” Desmond frowned pathetically.

Believe me, I am, too.”

Desmond pouted. “You can go out and grab someone any time you want. I’m not old enough.”

“And why would I risk getting some kind of terrible disease?”

“I thought it was because you loved me.”

Shaun blushed. “… That too.”

Desmond placed his hands on the desk and leaned towards the man. “No one will see us in your car.”

Shaun stopped writing, and clenched his jaw. “Stop it.”

“No one will see! Come on, we both haven’t had it in forever. And I’ve only had it once. It’s not fair.” He pouted some more.

Shaun looked up in disbelief. “It’s bloody cold out there!”

“We could warm it up.”

“… Come here.”

And so Shaun’s car was used for desperate affairs on the side of the road. Luckily the windows were frozen so no one could see how much fun they had.

Unfortunately, as much as they’d love it, they didn’t have the time to indulge in their illicit affair every single day. But it was comfortable, for once. Desmond’s grades continued to impress, and so Bill rarely bothered him about school. Most of the bothering was about helping around the farm, and playing with the kids (he liked to call it training… yeah). It was comfortable.

It wasn’t until Desmond showed up at his front doorstep that Shaun began to think anything was particularly wrong with this situation.

He stared at the young man, shivering on his doormat. It was snowing, bloody _snowing_ outside, and Desmond was standing on his doorstep, looking rather distraught. Shaun’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Desmond? Bloody hell, did you ride here?”

Desmond nodded stiffly. Shaun grabbed the teen by the arm and pulled him inside. “Are you crazy? Get over here.” He pulled him over to the sofa and grabbed a throw, pulling it around him and setting him down.

“Sit there and I’ll make some tea.” He walked out, leaving Desmond to shiver on the sofa. Obviously there was something wrong, else Desmond wouldn’t have ridden his bicycle through the bloody _snow_ , at eight at night. He looked troubled, and Shaun was _terrible_ at consoling people. As the water boiled, he looked back into the living room, where Desmond was hunched over, pulling the throw tight around him. He’d need more than that. The kettle whistled, and he prepared a mug of chamomile for his student. He figured the poor American had no taste for tea, so he used something more mild than his usual. He went back to Desmond and handed over the steaming mug.

“Here, it’ll warm you up.”

Desmond looked up, then poked one of his hands out of the throw enough to hold the mug. Shaun turned and went to the linen closet, grabbed another blanket, and put it around the teen. Then he sat down next to him, his fingers intertwined in front of him. “Alright. What happened?”

Desmond clenched his jaw visibly, trying to find words. “I… had an argument. With my dad. I just wanted to get out. I-I didn’t know where else to go.” He lowered his head in shame.

Shaun frowned. “Hey, It’s all right. I didn’t have anything planned… Just tell me what happened.”

Desmond let out a shaky breath. “Dad’s been cool, lately. We’ve been getting along really well, since he can’t really complain about my grades. I came home with my progress report today. Straight A’s. First time ever. I was really proud, so I showed him. And… he said good job. And that I’d better keep it up.” His gaze burrowed into the wall ahead of him. “And I just… snapped. He doesn’t have a fucking clue how hard I worked to get that. Every time I finally make it up to his standards, he sets new ones. I can never please him, ever!” He held onto the mug for dear life, so that he wouldn’t forget he was holding it and drop it onto Shaun’s immaculately clean carpet.

Shaun frowned, and let Desmond calm himself. When he no longer looked livid, Desmond breathed in a shaky breath. “So I told him off. And we argued. He said I should always be looking to better myself, and I said I couldn’t fucking do it. Then I left. I didn’t wanna deal with him anymore.” He paused, then looked up at Shaun with reluctant tears in his eyes. “It’s my fault, I’m sorry. I could have stayed, but I didn’t, and—"

Shaun pulled him into an embrace, and Desmond sobbed into his chest. “No, it’s not your fault. Your dad’s a prick, and no one should have to deal with that.” He paused as Desmond cried, not knowing what to say. But there must have been some innate reflex inside him that knew what to do, because he started to stroke Desmond’s hair as he spoke in a reassuring tone, “It’s alright now.”

That innate consolatory instinct must have been correct, because after a few minutes, Desmond started to quiet down. He sniffed quietly, face burrowed in Shaun’s chest, then he pulled away. He looked up, timidly. “Can I please stay? I don’t… want to go back…”

Shaun smiled. “I was just about to start dinner, if you’d like. And I’ve got a spare room, so that’s fine.”

Desmond hesitated. “I… was hoping I could stay with you.”

Shaun frowned. “… In my room?”

Desmond blushed. “Yes… I don’t want to be alone.”

Shaun stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “You’re tempting me, Desmond.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Desmond smiled again through his tears.

 

 


	5. The End? Nah.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond graduates high school and it's really sappy and stuff. Don't worry Des, college will suck too!

After that, Desmond found himself visiting a lot more. When his dear father inquired about his absence overnight, he said that he’d been visiting a friend, and that he should kindly fuck off. Bill tried to argue, but Desmond had had enough. He went home to help out with the farm, then left again, and only out of some old sense of obligation did he do that much. His family needed his help, but that was all he was willing to give anymore.

And he was happy. He was blissfully happy, and he did his best to avoid thinking about the future. Eventually, Desmond had to get his butt in gear and decide on a career. With his grades, he would be easily accepted into a university. The problem was, ol’ Bill Miles wouldn’t have it. He insisted that Desmond was going to stay and help out on the farm. Which didn’t make any damn sense for him to work so hard in high school, just to work on a farm. And there was that other issue…

He decided to ask Shaun for advice after class one day.

“… Hey.”

Shaun didn’t look up. “Don’t you have tutoring to go to?”

Desmond looked to the side nonchalantly. “I figured I could skip today, since I’m doing so well.”

Shaun raised an eyebrow. “Well, I still have to grade papers, so…”

Desmond shifted. “I was wondering if you could give me some advice.”

Shaun hesitated, warily. “Alright…”

Desmond bit his lip. “I… I want to go to a university, but my dad doesn’t want me to.”

Shaun raised an eyebrow. “You really care what your father thinks?”

Desmond frowned. “He keeps insisting that I join the “family business”… He gets really fucking crazy when I talk back about it.”

Shaun looked curious. “You’ve never mentioned what your family does.”

Desmond rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. “Eheh, well… Have I mentioned that my dad’s kinda… crazy? Like, clinically insane?”

Shaun frowned. “… No, you haven’t.”

Desmond explained. “Well uh… He’s delusional. He says that we’re assassins, and that I have to protect the family because people are after us and they’ll kill us.”

Shaun frowned. “… Bloody hell, he should be in an institution.”

“Heh, yeah…” Desmond looked sheepish. “He’s not crazy all the time, though. It’s just about that. And they need him. And he needs me. And I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Shaun thought for a long moment. “… Well, they really shouldn’t place all their hopes on you. This is your life, and you should do what you want with it. They have to learn to live without you. What do you want to study?”

“… Music.”

Shaun stared incredulously. “Desmond, you can’t play a musical instrument.”

Desmond bit his lip. “Well… I can sing.”

Shaunraised his eyebrows in surprise. “… Show me.”

Desmond blushed. “Later.”

He eventually calmed his nerves enough to sing for his teacher. It was actually really good, and Shaun recommended that he go study. He was slightly disappointed that Desmond wasn’t interested in a history degree, but the more variety in a relationship the better, right? Desmond applied for various universities the next week.

The months rolled by, and Desmond had his eighteenth birthday. He had never been fond of lavish parties, so they celebrated in the best way they knew how. Shaun made the obvious comment about how they could now legally have sex. They responded by laughing, and doing what they’d been doing up until that point. Yep, blissfully happy.

 

__

 

 

“… I’m graduating this year.”

Shaun hesitated, but was hardly affected. “Brilliant, Desmond. You’ve finally figured that out, seven months into your fourth year? You’re a bloody genius!”

Desmond clenched his jaw. “You know what I mean.”

Shaun chuckled. “Sorry, sarcasm is innate among my kind. Anyway… What university are you attending?”

“… I got into New York State.”

Shaun sat up in excitement. “Great! It’s a wonderful school. Not as great as the London Conservatory, but it’s okay.”

Desmond huffed. “You’re dancing around the topic.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Desmond looked away. “I’ll be leaving… and I don’t know when I’ll see you again. I... don’t want to leave you.” He looked back, pained.

Shaun frowned incredulously. “Oh, don’t get all clingy on me just because I was your first, Desmond.”

Desmond glared, and yelled. “Dammit, Shaun, why do you have to be such an ass all the time!? I’m serious!”

Shaun hesitated, then apologized. “Sorry, like I said…” He thought for a moment, then answered quietly. “… You have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t get hung up on one person.”

Desmond simply looked at the floor, not wanting to accept his fate. Shaun sighed, pushed himself up from his chair, walked around the desk, and took Desmond in a gentle embrace. “You’ll be fine. I’m not going anywhere, as far as I know.” He let go and held Desmond by the shoulders. “Unless of course I get fired for molesting my students. Then I’ll just come find you.”

Desmond fought against a rather pathetic-looking pout. “Now look who’s being clingy.”

Shaun smirked. “Oh, you caught me.” He laughed and sat back down. He hesitated before he went on “… I could fail you, if you like. Then you’ll be forced to stay.”

Desmond glared. “That would be a dick move.”

“But if you really don’t want to go…” Shaun smiled deviously.

Desmond deadpanned. “No, I’m good. I’ll go…”

Shaun nodded. “Glad we figured this out. Now, I actually have to get some work done, so could you possibly leave the room so I don’t go crazy and ravage you?”

Desmond smirked. “I’ll be back.”

 

\--

 

“We should probably stop seeing each other as much, so it’s not as great a shock to you when you leave.”

Desmond stopped writing. He was on Shaun’s sofa working on an English paper, and he completely lost his train of thought. He had to think hard to register Shaun’s comment.

Before if got any more awkward, Shaun sighed. “And to me. It would be a shock to me, too. I’d hate to go into Desmond-withdrawal, seriously…”

Desmond frowned. He knew it was true. If he was suddenly kept from seeing this man after seeing him every day… he would die. He hated the idea, but it was true. He nodded, sadly. “So… which days?”

“Fridays are still open if you like.”

Desmond frowned. It wasn’t much, but he’d have to start somewhere. “Deal.”

“Good.” Shaun bent back over his papers, in order to hide his displeased look. They both sat in silence, opting to actually get work done.

“… Can we be Facebook friends?”

Shaun rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Don’t tempt me, please.”

Desmond’s previous average grades made it impossible to be Valedictorian, but he never really wanted the honor, anyway. Too much stress for the honor of speaking in front of a bunch of dim-witted classmates and impatient parents. When Graduation came around, it was with tears and sappy good-jobs that parents bid good luck to their new graduates. Desmond’s parents couldn’t make it, of course. They said it would be too dangerous. More like Bill said it would be too dangerous, and whatever he says goes. Desmond snorted. Fine by him, he had a bicycle. He’d get home somehow, in his graduation gown. Yeah.

Shaun was waiting by the gate when Desmond wheeled out of there, determined to distance himself from the suffocating crowd of emotion behind him. Shaun attempted to look casual, and probably failed, but the sight brought a smile to Desmond’s face. He approached the man.

Shaun coughed. “Well. You’re done. Congratulations. Now you can go do it all again at a university.”

“You’re such an ass.” Desmond stepped in to give his teacher a tight hug, which was gently reciprocated. Shaun patted his back and spoke softly.

“I’m proud of you, Desmond.”

Desmond had to fight off the tears of joy.

The summer went by too quickly. Farm work took up a lot of Desmond’s day, and he wasn’t happy about having to stay home most days. Shaun insisted that they cut down on seeing each other still, and they gradually brought it down to lunch once a week. It was never enough, and soon came the fateful day that Desmond had to leave.

It was not a happy day. Desmond dragged himself from his bed in the spare room (he’d already left the Farm, didn’t wanna deal with saying goodbye. He talked to his mom though, at least she seemed to support him a little), and ate his cereal with the gloomiest of frowns on his face. Shaun didn’t push him as they drove to the airport. As they waited for Desmond’s flight, there was little talk. Just enough to convince Desmond that no, it was not a good idea to miss his flight and skip orientation, and no he could not just stay behind and marry Shaun and be a good housewife. It was tempting, but no.

When they called for his flight, Desmond had to force himself to stand, and walk towards the boarding dock. He stopped about thirty yards from it and turned around, finally sorting through the words running through his head. And by sorting through it all, he meant deciding he didn’t want to say any of it, because that meant he would be saying goodbye, and all he wanted was to feel Shaun against him again. He stepped forward and thumped into a tight hug, refusing to let go.

Shaun pat his back. “You’ll miss your flight, Desmond… I’m not driving you there.”

Desmond refused to cry. Fuck if he was gonna cry in front of all these people and embarrass the hell out of Shaun. Jaw clenched, he gained control of his breathing again. He gave the man one last squeeze, then let go, reluctantly. He took a deep breath as he stepped back. “… I _really_ loved your class.”

Shaun guffawed. “Well, _that’s_ a relief, the suspense was _killing_ me.” He waved Desmond off. “Get the hell out of here Miles, you’re frustrating me.” He looked away, a light blush dusting his pale face.

Desmond nodded, smiling sadly. He waved, then turned and got on board. He’d better like New York. If not, he’d be back in a heartbeat.

 


	6. Of Homework and Sexile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Guess who has never been to NYC in their life and is too lazy to research much about it!? *shot*  
> Other Disclaimer: Choral majors aren’t all condescending bastards, I just made them look that way for drama’s sake >o> *cough* They usually are though *cough*

“ _Shaaaaaaaun…_ ”

The Brit grumbled into the phone. “What?”

“ _I miss you_.”

Shaun had to fight not to throw the phone at the wall. “Jesus Christ Desmond, how many bloody times have you said that this week?”

“… _Like thirty_ …”

“Yeah. It’s getting kind of annoying.”

“ _You’re only ripping on me because you won’t say it. I have to say it for the both of us!”_

Shaun paused. “You can’t prove that.”

“ _I don’t have to. We both know it’s true.”_

Shaun rubbed his eyes. “Look, I would love to chat, but it’s getting really, really late. Don’t you have class in… three hours?”

“ _... Yeah.”_

“Get to bed, love. I’ll call you later, when you’re not dead, or under a pile of homework.”

“ _I’m dead without you, Shaun.”_

“Well then you’d better wake up again because I’m not calling you until then.”

“ _Fuuuck…”_

“Good night, Desmond.”

“ _G’night, sexy.”_

Shaun shook his head as he hung up, tossing his phone onto the sofa next to him. He _did_ miss him. A lot. It was impossible to get through the day without thinking at least _one_ dirty thing about the young man. And Desmond didn’t help at all, with his incessant calling and whining about how much he misses the cuddling, and the chats about what George Washington would think of the music of today, and the mind-blowing sex—

No, stop right there, Shaun. You’ll drive yourself crazy. He sighed, frustratedly. It was a terrible idea, but he needed to go out. A little fresh air and a drink might relieve his stress. And maybe something to stick his dick into. That might help too. He grabbed his wallet and strode out of his apartment with more purpose than he’d had all week.

 

\--

 

“So I’ve got like three classes with big projects to do, and then my midterms are coming up soon. I’m dying.”

Shaun answered absently on the other end. _“That is what you signed up for, is it not?”_

Desmond flopped back on his bed. “Yeah, but I didn’t know it would be so _hard_. Seriously. I have to sightread stuff for Eartraining every class, I don’t understand intervals for theory class, and my choir director is a condescending _bitch--”_ he let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m just stressing way too much.”

“ _Yeah, no kidding. Why don’t you just get it all done and over with? You shouldn’t be talking to me when you’ve got work to do.”_

Desmond frowned, saddened. “I don’t want to.”

“ _You can’t just spend all your time talking to me.”_

“It’s not worth being here if I can’t talk to you all the time.”

Shaun sighed. _“Don’t you like it there? You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself. Education should be novel and exciting.”_

“Well it’s a lot more work than novelty. And everyone in Concert Chorale is self-centered and arrogant. They’re not even that good. I just want to enjoy making music with them… but they’re just _terrible_ people.”

“ _Perhaps you should tell them?”_

“Nah… They’ll just get all offended, and go behind their backs to ruin my life. I’d rather just learn an instrument. Maybe piano.”

“ _That would probably be more difficult to deal with.”_

“Yeah. But what I’m dealing with right now is hard enough. I’m willing to try new things.”

“ _Well then, I suppose you’ll have to deal with the consequences.”_

Desmond grinned. “Hey. You know what else is hard?”

There was a pause on the other end. _“No. I’m not doing this.”_

“Come on, I’m dying.”

“ _I am not having phone sex with you. I’m at school.”_

“Then go home! Jesus, you never spend any time there.”

“ _Even if I went home, I would not have phone sex with you.”_

“You haven’t even tried it.”

“ _No.”_

Desmond made a puppy dog face in loss.

“ _And I can tell you’re making that face. I won’t do it.”_

“Why? What’s so horrible about it?”

“ _It’s bloody awkward!”_

“Why, because you have to describe all the dirty, horrible things you’d love to do to me? And you get to hear my reaction?”

There was silence for a few moments. _“I’m going home. I’ll call you when I get there.”_

Desmond smirked. “I’ll be waiting.”

 

\--

 

“I’ve been sexiled from my room.”

There was a pause on the other line. _“What?”_

“Sexiled. Meaning my dorm mate brought a girl back and is having sex with her. It was awkward. So I left.”

“ _And you’re telling me this, why?”_

“I kinda wanna get back at him for it. I left my theory textbook back there and now I can’t get my work done…”

Shaun paused, then chuckled. _“Do you mean you want to bring someone back to your dorm, or have me call you while you’re there and demand satisfaction to make your roommate uncomfortable?”_

“Well, either or…”

“ _Desmond, if you want to have sex with someone, you don’t have to ask me.”_

“I like talking to you more, though…” Desmond tried not to blush.

“ _People might say that’s a little weird.”_

“But you don’t think so?”

“ _Maybe a little. You should go interact with your peers.”_

“I don’t have to have sex with everyone I meet, god—!” He remembered he was in the library, and kept his voice down. _Now_ he was blushing.

“ _Jesus, don’t you have work to do? Get your theory done later, I know you’ve got other things.”_

“Yeah… I’ll call you later. Bye.”

“ _Bye, sexy.”_

Desmond smirked as he hung up.

 

\--

 

The next time they interacted, it was after Desmond hadn’t called for a whole _week,_ and Shaun had gotten worried and called _him,_ something he’d never really had to do. Desmond had quickly explained how busy he was studying for finals, and that he was sorry he hadn’t called. He said he’d call later.

And later he did. It was three in the bloody morning and they were both too tired to say much. Desmond apologized again. Finals had rushed up behind him and bit him in the ass, he said. Shaun had no idea.

He left Desmond alone, then. He knew how stressful that time could be, when your grade’s riding on this _one bloody exam_ and there’s nothing you can do about it if you cock it up. Except take the bloody class again…

Another week later, Desmond called. His first semester was finally over, and grades were in.

“ _I fuckin’ failed English.”_

Shaun blinked, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is that so.”

“ _It was an easy class. And I failed the final.”_

“Well, then you’ll just have to make sure you don’t do that next time, yeah? Desmond, it’s not a big deal. Just take it again.”

“ _I got a C- in my theory class. The next class is a lot harder.”_

“It’ll be fine, Desmond. You’ve got a break now, yes? Use that to calm down. Maybe you can come back and visit for a little bit.”

“ _I’m not gonna make you pay for that… I’ll be fine here, I’m sorry. I just—I really thought I did well. And all I did was fuck it up.”_

“It’s all over now. You know what you can do better, so just relax for now.”

Desmond was silent. Then he nodded. _“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow, I’m really tired.”_

“Goodnight.”

“ _G’night.”_

 

\--

 

Things were better over winter break, and Desmond took the next semester straight on. Which meant not as much time to fuck around like he and so many others loved to do, but it was what he had to do. And when finals came around, he did well.

“ _I fuckin’ passed Music History! Shit, I am so done with that. I mean, I’ve got two more classes until I’m done with that subject, but fuckin’ shit, I passed. And theory, I finally get it! Fuckin’ secondary dominants, I can do those in my sleep.”_

Shaun smirked on the other end, as he graded papers. His grades were due later that day, and he was doing his best to meet the deadline. He also had no bloody clue what Desmond was talking about. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

“ _You don’t understand how happy I am that it’s over.”_

Shaun chuckled. “I’ve been through it all, and through grad school. I think I have an idea.”

“ _Jesus, you make yourself sound so old.”_

“… I am old.”

Desmond chuckled on the other end. _“I was kidding. You’re not old. You’re sexy.”_

“And I also graduated from high school ten years ago.”

“ _Only because you were sixteen and a friggen genius. Don’t even think about it, man.”_

Shaun rubbed his eyes. “Just tell me you’ll come home for summer.” Did that sound clingy? Desperate? Maybe the latter. That one was more acceptable.

“ _I… I can’t. I’m really sorry. I fucked up my first semester, so I’m signing up for summer classes. Might get a job, too.”_

Shaun frowned, slightly disappointed. Of course he would. “I suppose you’ll do what you have to…”

“ _I’m really sorry. I… I’ll save my money, and I’ll visit next year! Promise. Well, I’ll promise once I get a job. There. Good?”_

“… Deal. You’d better promise, because I’m really starting to miss you.” God, he actually said it. He was way too soft for his reputation’s sake.

“ _Just starting?”_

“… Yes. A little. I suppose I can deal for another year, though.”

“ _You’ve been dying for the past six months, at least. Admit it.”_

“I have been. Now get on Skype right now you little shit, so I can see your pretty face.”

Desmond grinned. _“I’ll be there in a bit.”_

 

 


	7. Capitalism Sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Des has money problems because the American school system is bullshiiiiiit~

It went on like that for the next year. Desmond tried his best to be a good student, and Shaun was there to give support when Desmond needed to rant. And when Shaun complained about his job, Desmond was happy to be distracted and listen.

Long-distant relationships can be testing, though… and Desmond didn’t call as much as he used to. School, he said. They talked more on the internet than any other way. That always left out the vocal inflections, and the facial expressions. It was bloody sappy, but Shaun missed them… He only hoped that Desmond didn’t find anyone new, and younger than he. Oh Jesus, look at him. He was afraid! Afraid Desmond would leave him. He should have seen it coming. There’s no way they would last, not with them being so far apart for so long… Shaun accepted it, with a certain apathy just as a defense mechanism. As least he told himself that’s what it was. He buried himself in work like he’d done before he met that god of a young man.

Desmond continued to struggle with his classes. He failed the next ‘Music History’ class he loved to rant on and on about, as well as his theory course. It turned out those secondary dominants were a lot more complicated than he thought.

“Jesus, why don’t you get tutoring? They’ve got tutors there, yeah?”

“ _Yeah… Other classmates have tried explaining this shit to me, but I can’t ever remember it or apply it. I don’t know… I’m starting to think this was a big mistake.”_

“What, going to college?”

“ _No, music! I never thought it would be this… this_ complicated! _I mean… I don’t know what I mean. I hate my ensemble mates. Well, there’s like one girl who isn’t a self-centered egotist, but she’s not even a music major. I hang with the band people more than choir, because they’re just nicer people!”_

Shaun drew another ‘F’ on a half-assed attempt at a history analysis. “You shouldn’t let your classmates determine your future, Desmond. You have to decide if what you’re doing is something _you yourself_ want to be doing. Nothing else should matter.”

There was a pause. _“… Why are you a teacher? You hate kids. Especially high schoolers.”_

Shaun chuckled, humorlessly. “It was the only bloody job I could find.”

“ _Why? You’re a friggen genius!”_

Shaun sighed through his nose. “Because I was too young. I had no experience. And I still don’t, apparently. I’ve applied to various universities and none will have me.”

“ _How do you get up every day and face the unwarranted shit people throw at you?”_

“… To be perfectly honest, you help a lot. I don’t know where I’d be without you.” He said it. Jesus. His heart pounded safely in his chest where Desmond wouldn’t hear it.

Desmond was silent for a few moments. _“… We just talk on the phone, now. Does it really help that much?”_

“Yes! Jesus, Desmond, you sound more depressed than usual.” Desmond was having doubts. Either that, or he was about to drop the bomb. The one where he said he didn’t actually enjoy talking to Shaun at all, and that they should probably stop. Shaun’s breath held in his throat as he waited, tense.

“… _Why do you like me? Don’t you want someone smarter? Someone who doesn’t whine to you about stupid things every day?”_

Shaun blinked. He couldn’t figure out where this was going anymore, because it bloody sounded like Desmond was afraid Shaun wasn’t interested anymore. What the bloody hell. “Jesus, you’re worried about that?”

“… _Y-Yeah…? You can have anyone you want, but you’re still talking to me. Even though I’ve been gone for a year and a half…”_

Shaun rubbed his temples with one hand as he focused on keeping his phone up to his ear with the other. “Desmond… You’re afraid I’m going to leave you for someone better?”

Silence. _“… Y-Yeah?”_

Shaun let out a shaky laugh. “Are you bloody serious? You thought I wasn’t interested anymore?”

“ _Well, it would make sense! I mean, I’m really fuckin’ annoying sometimes, and I’m really young and immature…”_

“Desmond. You are more mature than most of my coworkers, _and_ most of the people I’ve encountered in my field of study, _period._ You have absolutely _no_ competition.” He said it more to convince himself than anyone else. Desmond was afraid of _him_ leaving? It didn’t make any sense.

Desmond was silent, probably thinking it over.

When he didn’t hear a response, Shaun decided to go on. “Desmond, I was afraid you’d leave _me._ ”

A pause. _“… What?”_

Shaun took a deep breath, feeling those annoying aftereffects of adrenaline, making him giddy. “I’m serious.”

Desmond was silent, then he let out a breathless laugh. _“You’re serious?”_

Shaun felt his lips tug upward. This was rather unexpected. “Yes… I was rather sad.”

“ _Rather? I was freaking the hell out, man! Shit… You’re serious?”_

“Desmond, this had better not be the reason you’ve been having trouble. I’d feel really bad.” Jesus, he hoped not.

“ _Oh, no. Don’t worry, it wasn’t that… It’s just really fucking hard, shit. I mean difficult. God dammit… I fucking miss you. Really badly. I’ve been saving my money like I said, but dorms cost a crapload.”_

“What about your financial aid?”

“ _Oh, that… You mean that sorry_ excuse _for financial aid? I tried to save the leftover from last year, but then they decided I didn’t need as much this year. My job is paying for room and board.”_

“Desmond, I could—”

“ _No, really I don’t want your money. You don’t get paid shit for being a high school teacher, I know.”_

“… Well, I won’t argue with that.”

“ _You already suffered through this shit. You aren’t responsible for me too.”_

“I suppose, if you won’t let me…” He sighed.

“… _How the hell do you pay your way all through grad school?”_

“I’m still paying off student loans, Desmond.”

“ _Oh… That sucks.”_

“Yes, it does.”

“ _Wanna talk about how much I miss you sucking my cock?”_

“Jesus, do you have to say it so bluntly?” Shaun blushed from behind his glasses.

 

\--

 

Desmond’s fourth semester was the most difficult yet, as was expected. They hardly talked, and they both understood. Shaun had his own hands full with one of his most unruly classes yet, but at least a few of his students showed some promise. He couldn’t help comparing them to Desmond though, and how terribly they failed in comparison. He wasn’t biased, of course not. He would _never._

Around April, Desmond stopped calling, and started studying, like he should. Shaun kept his distance. College was like that, he told himself. It kept you away from your friends and family, and made you a generally miserable person. This is assuming you were a good student, of course. And from what he’d heard from Desmond’s rants, music students had it even worse. So he left him alone, and concentrated on his own responsibilities.

Finals rolled around again, and they didn’t talk at all. Desmond was already a nervous wreck, and he was probably taking the time to relax. Shaun waited until he was sure finals were over before calling again.

Desmond didn’t pick up. He figured it was a bad time. Either he was sleeping, or he was partying his pants off like he should be doing after finals. He smirked, praying it was the latter.

He called again later that week, and again was greeted by Desmond’s voicemail. He frowned as he checked his email, wondering if he was just busy. Nothing. What the hell was going on…? Did he really not do well, or something? Shaun left him alone, still. He hoped the young man was alright.

 

\--

 

He’d failed all of his difficult finals. All of them. Music History, Theory IV, Humanities, and his Communications class, all F’s. How the hell was he such a failure in college? He studied, but he couldn’t remember the material.

And Shaun was calling him. He didn’t know how to tell him how much of a fuckup he was. Maybe he’d just give up, soon… He didn’t deserve a fuckup like him, seriously.

Maybe he could take a break, and figure out what the hell he was doing. Music just wasn’t fun anymore, that was for sure. And it had taken him two fucking years to figure it out. He let the office know he wouldn’t be taking any classes that next Fall, and went to sleep.

They didn’t mention that he had to be in classes to stay in the dorms. Sneaky little capitalist moneygrubbers. And his financial aid was all spent. He was living off of his job. Well, at least he could put in more hours. He’d be having fun finding a new place, now. Shit.

 

\--

 

Shaun waited. The days rolled by. And the weeks. A month. Two. Shaun decided with frustration that the man had had enough time to calm down, and that he needed a little surprise.

 


	8. No, I'm Not A Stripper, Yet

Desmond walked down the hall to his apartment, where his roommate was probably lounging on the sofa playing his XBOX, surrounded by cigarette butts and chip bags. And he’d probably complain about how they no longer had any Doritos because the degenerate had eaten them all. Desmond just hoped he could slip by and drop his stuff off without attracting too much attention. He pulled out his keys, then paused. He opened the door, remembering that his roommate hardly ever locked it.

“Hey… the door was open again. Just sayin’.” He closed the door behind him, trying to ignore the sight before him.

“Whoops, sorry.” The guy was too engrossed in his game to really notice Desmond’s existence, it seemed. So everything was normal. Desmond huffed through his nose, and swiftly made his way across the room to his own sanctuary (if it could be called that, since he only stayed long enough to sleep there).

He set his pizza bag down, pulled off his stupid pizza shirt, and exchanged it for a nicer one. Riding around the neighborhood delivering pizza got pretty nasty after a while. He still cursed himself for not getting his license sooner—it might have made his job a lot easier. Luckily, he managed to get this nice job at a bar down the road. Very nice. He still kept his shitty pizza job though because working at a bar during the daytime sucked. So much that riding around town delivering pizza to often rude and stupid people was a better alternative. He grabbed his keys again and made his way through the living room again. It looked like this place was gonna stay messy until he cleaned it. Which would be never. He spoke without looking at his degenerate of a roommate. “Hey, I’m off to work again. Don’t burn the place down.”

“Heeey, you don’t give me enough credit. No, come on YES! YES, HEADSHOT AHAHAHAH—“ He fistpumped a little as Desmond opened the door to leave. “Oh hey wait, some guy asked if you lived here. I said you were at work.”

Desmond frowned, looking back inside. “Some guy? Who? What did he look like?”

The roommate continued to play, and answer absently. “I don’t remember, man, he said he was your friend or something. OHHHHH AHAHAHAH, GOTCHA.” His daily amount of attention given to Desmond was up, and Desmond couldn’t care less.

He left the apartment, and locked it on the way out. How that guy could pay his half of the rent, he had no idea. And he didn’t care to find out. What he _did_ want to find out was who this “some guy” was. It might have been Brody asking for money again, or Joe dropping by to talk about his new ex-wife, or Ethan begging him to go to Brooklyn with him and start a band there… He realized just how many people he knew. And didn’t like. Jesus, he needed to move, or something. He turned to head back down the hall and stopped when he noticed someone standing in front of him. “Sorry—” he glanced up, moving to go around the man, but stopped dead.

Shaun raised his eyebrows. “Desmond.”

Desmond’s eyes widened, and he suddenly found himself breathless. “S-Shaun--!?”

Shaun brought up a hand to give a little wave. “Hello, there.”

Desmond gaped a few times before finding words. “You—did you come earlier…?”

“Yes, and your idiot friend there told me you’d be back soon. So I waited for you in the parking lot.” He nodded at the door down the hall, which led to the lot. His expression softened. “I saw you come up, so I followed you up here.”

Desmond breathed a few deep breaths, running a hand through his hair. “Holy shit… What… What are you doing here?”

Shaun frowned. “Looking for you! It’s been two months, Desmond. Did you know?” He looked… hurt, almost. Almost. “I went to the school dorms, and they said you didn’t live there anymore. So I asked around because you wouldn’t answer your bloody phone, and found you here. What the hell is going on?”

Desmond tried to find words through his erratic breathing. “I-I uh… Shit—” He took a shaky breath and tried to calm himself. It would be better to just tell him everything. “I-I had a lot of trouble, and I… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it anymore, so I thought I’d take a break.” He shifted uncomfortably under Shaun’s frowning gaze. “And since I wasn’t taking classes, I didn’t get any financial aid, so they kicked me out of the dorms, and I had to find another job, and another shitty apartment—” he glared daggers at the floor, visualizing his roommate’s face in it.

Shaun frowned in disbelief, processing Desmond’s rambling. “And… you never thought once to tell me about it? Jesus Desmond, I could have helped you!” His expression went from disbelief, to hurt, to angry in the span of a few seconds.

Desmond glanced up, then quickly looked back down. He couldn’t meet Shaun’s gaze. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t deserve your help, because all I did was mess around and fuck up my own life.”

Shaun hesitated, and thought hard before forming his reply. “… And you thought if you just didn’t talk to me for two months, that I would forget about you? That I’d eventually get bored of your shit, and just move on?”

Desmond took a shaky breath and looked up, hesitantly. “Y-Yeah. I just… Shit. I’m really sorry, okay? I didn’t want to bother you.” He paused. “I thought I could handle it.”

The Brit stared, dumbfounded. He didn’t want to _bother_ him? _Really?_ “How the bloody hell did you come to that conclusion, Desmond?”

“I don’t know, okay!? I just, fuck… No one should have to deal with my shit. I thought you’d be happier if I just left you alone.” He couldn’t look Shaun in the eye, so he focused on the floor instead.

Shaun stared in disbelief, then threw up his arms, letting them fall again. “Well, I’m here, right? Because I do care, and I was actually really bloody _worried_ about you. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t make me forget you.” He moved in closer. “Desmond, you don’t have to do this all on your own. You’re doing a bloody poor job of it.”

Desmond shuddered as he tried calming his breathing. “Yeah, pretty damn poor. I’ve gotta make thirty bucks last the rest of the month.”

Shaun shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You said you have a job.”

Desmond nodded. “Yeah, two now. And uh…” He looked at his phone. “I’m gonna be really late to this one.”

“Where is it?”

“Just down the road, but when I ride it takes about thirty minutes to get there…”

“I’m driving you. Come on.” Shaun beckoned him as he made his way to the door at the end of the hall.

“H-Hey, wait! I don’t… You’re not gonna like it.” Desmond jogged to catch up.

Shaun looked over at him, incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’re a stripper.”

“Wh-What? No! Jesus, I haven’t sunk that low, yet…

“Oh, good. Then where?”

Desmond sighed, and opened the door. “I work at a bar. Not as a bartender, either. They’ve got me on cleaning duty and waiting tables since I’m not old enough to be near alcohol.”

“Ah. I’m sure you got the job just because of your looks.” He walked through the door and headed down the stairs to his car.

Desmond followed close behind. “Yeah, the manager did say that I’d help bring in business…” He smirked.

They reached Shaun’s car and got in, Desmond directing where to go. They reached a busy strip with a lot of classy restaurants and shops, and Desmond pointed at a bar called the “Bad Weather”.

“That’s the place.”

Shaun looked around at all the flashy lights and neon signs. “I literally have no idea what to expect from this place. It could have anything on the inside.”

Desmond chuckled. “Yeah, it’s like that pretty much all around here. It’s really nice, though.”

Shaun pulled over to the sidewalk. “When does your shift end?”

Desmond hesitated. “Uh… midnight?”

“Oh, Jesus I can’t stay that long.”

Desmond looked disheartened. “Yeah, I won’t ask you to… Where are you staying? You didn’t just come for one day, I’m assuming.”

Shaun frowned. “Yeah uh… I got myself a place.”

Desmond frowned this time. “A place? Like, an apartment?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice. And I own it, so it’s even better.”

Desmond’s eyes widened. “Wait, you bought a place? You live here?”

Shaun tried to hold back his smile, and half-succeeded. “Yeah, I’ve got things to unpack when I get back there.”

Desmond gaped for the second time that day. “Wh-Why!? What about your job—”

“—In South Dakota? Yeah, a really fantastic job, that was. Thing is, I’ve found myself a much better job, as Professor of History at New York State.”

Desmond could hardly contain his excitement. His arms raised and he grasped his head in excitement. “Holy shit--! Are you serious!? Ha-hah--!” His hands covered his mouth, once he realized he was being overly loud in his exclamations. “Holy shit—That’s amazing!”

Shaun grinned modestly, leaning on one fist. “I know, right?”

Desmond struggled to calm himself. He probably looked ridiculous. But could he really be blamed for being so excited? No. “God, that’s… amazing. Shit.” He realized what this meant, and he decided to go for something. He turned back to Shaun. “I-I uh… I get off at midnight? I mean, if you wanna…”

“Yes, Desmond, I am coming to pick you up from work at midnight. And I am taking you back to my new apartment, because that thing—” He jerked his head in the direction of Desmond’s apartment, and its current inhabitant. “—does not deserve your company.”

Desmond beamed, and hesitated before launching himself at the man, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck , crushing their lips together. Shaun made a tiny, startled noise, then relaxed, his arms snaking around to Desmond’s back. Desmond gave a breathy moan of satisfaction, and Shaun smirked, pulling on his lip with his teeth. Desmond gasped, closing the gap between them again.

After a few moments, Shaun realized just how uncomfortably hot it was getting in his car. He pulled away slowly, panting slightly. “Desmond, you’re late for work.”

Desmond pulled back a little. “Y-Yeah, sorry.” He said through his erratic breathing. He pulled away, and made sure he had everything he needed, which was basically his keys and wallet, but whatever. He opened the door, struggling to get out and not fall on his face. “Uh, see you at midnight?”

“On the hour.” Shaun saluted, almost playfully. There must be something wrong with him today because bloody hell.

Desmond beamed again and waved, then turned on his heel and jogged into the bar. Shaun watched him enter, smirking, then drove off.

 

\--

 

“Yo, Des, you’re spacing out again!”

Desmond jerked out of his reverie. “H-Huh? Oh, shit, sorry.” He started washing the dishes again like he was supposed to have been doing when he started thinking… dirty things. Yeah.

“Man, you’ve been grinning and staring into space all night. The hell happened?” His friend stacked more dirty dishes next to him and wiped his hands with a rag.

Desmond smiled lopsidedly. “Nothing… I just saw someone I left behind two years ago. It was a bit of a surprise.” To say the least.

“Ahahah, someone special? Who’s the lucky lady, man?”

“I’m sworn to secrecy.”

His friend scoffed. “Whaaa? Come on, you don’t trust me?”

“Not with a ten-foot pole, Flynn. Sorry.” He chuckled.

“I see how it is.” Flynn looked out the window and frowned. “Aw shit, it’s pouring out there. You gonna need a ride home?”

Desmond shook his head. “Nah, I don’t have my bike today. I got a ride. Thanks though!”

“Whatever you say, man.”

Work was uneventful except for when Flynn decided to proctor a drinking contest. It was very well received, but he hadn’t exactly been working during the thing and therefore had to stay after and work until closing. Totally worth it, he’d said.

Desmond wiped down a table, glancing back at the clock. 11:59. He hurried and finished with his table and ran to throw the rag back in its respective bucket. He called to his friend amidst the loud voices and hum of the club music, heading out the door. “Hey, shift’s over. Have fun!”

Flynn did a double take. “H-Hey, you can’t just leave me here to clean up! Des?” He pouted as Desmond ran out the door. “That girl had better be worth it, man.”

 


	9. Musicians Are Creative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely smut that was written forever ago so HERE YOU GO...
> 
> So I got to have fun and write about my experiences at music school pff. I’m not a choir major, but damn, those voice majors let themselves be known.

Shaun had been right outside, as he’d promised. And it took every ounce of Desmond’s willpower to control his urge to ravage the man right in his car. So he waited until they had driven into the driveway, parked, walked up the walkway, opened the door, and taken their shoes off (because Shaun wouldn’t have dirt on his new carpet) before he grabbed the man by his shirt front and pushed him up against the wall, claiming his lips.

Shaun’s cry was muffled by Desmond’s lips, and he only pulled away when Desmond let him. “Jesus, won’t even let me set my keys down?”

Desmond laid kisses all along his neck, and nipped at his ear. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this—?”

Shaun smirked, turning his head to give Desmond more room. “I think I have an idea.”

One of Desmond’s hands held onto Shaun’s shirt front for dear life, and the other found its way to the man’s belt. He struggled to get it open with one hand. “Then you understand—why I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Shaun could barely react. Desmond trying to dominate him was… unexpected. And not entirely unwelcomed. “Jesus--!” He found himself breathless, quite a rarity. He closed his eyes, and let Desmond have his fun. He’d get his turn in a bit… he hoped. The young man was rather strong, and could easily overpower him. Perhaps he should just enjoy it?

Desmond smirked and pulled Shaun’s belt off, throwing it behind him. He leaned in closer and breathed into Shaun’s ear, “Let me show you just how happy I am to see you.” He pulled away and dropped to his knees, pulling open Shaun’s pants.

Shaun’s eyes opened and he looked down. “What—A-Ahh--!” He gasped as Desmond took his length deep in his mouth. He shivered from the sudden pleasure that shot though him. Desmond began to move back and forth, slowly, his tongue pressed along the underside of his cock, and he gave a breathy moan. “G-God… Where did you—learn all this? I thought I taught you—Nn—to know your place…”

Desmond pulled away slowly, and gasped for air. He ran his tongue slowly along the shaft. “Music students— _lick—_ are creative.”

Shaun bit back a moan, his breathing ragged. “So what, you’ve been around with the entire music department?”

“Only the ones who came onto me.” Desmond took his cock in his mouth again, only pulling back to answer quickly.

“And that’s how many?”

“Only three.” He took Shaun all the way into his mouth and sucked as he pulled back.

Shaun tried, but failed to hold back a moan. He gasped. “Ahh—Jesus, Des—“ It was so good, _so good_ and he didn’t want to stop for _any reason at all_ , but he took Desmond by the shoulders, holding him back. “Just, calm down for a minute, okay?” he panted.

Desmond held back, panting slightly, his face flushed.

Shaun breathed for a moment, then nodded at the door. “The door’s still half open, mate.”

Desmond’s eyes widened, and he turned around sharply. “Oh, shit—”

Shaun quickly shut it for him. “Couldn’t even wait for me to get inside all the way, could you?” He turned back, grabbed Desmond and slowly pressed him up against the wall, kissing him. Desmond moaned, the adrenaline still wearing off in his veins.

Shaun pulled away after a few moments. “You’re looking a little too desperate, here.”

“ I am.” Desmond didn’t even try to hide it.

“I won’t lie, it’s hot. But…” He went after Desmond’s neck, tentatively. “It’s not the same…”

Desmond took a shaky breath as Shaun’s hand found its way up his shirt. “Things change…”

“It’s fine. Just…” He pulled back, and looked into Desmond’s eyes. “Calm down a little, m’kay?”

Desmond gulped, his throat dry. “K-Kay…”

Shaun raised his eyebrows, then went back to exploring the young man’s body. Desmond’s head fell back against the wall as he reveled in it. He’d wanted this for two freaking years. He was just about driven insane from the fact that he’d been deprived of this amazing man, and was now suddenly gifted with him again. He didn’t want to let him go. “Y-You… just don’t wanna share control, do you?”

Shaun nipped at his ear. “Maybe later. But right now, I want to do terrible things to you.” He bit down on Desmond’s shoulder, sure to leave a mark.

Desmond hissed, but welcomed the pain. It only shot a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin. “Is that a promise?”

Shaun grinned, and pulled away. “That’ll depend on your ability to convince me.” He pulled on Desmond’s belt loops, leading him towards his new bedroom. “Why don’t we finish this somewhere more comfortable…?”

Desmond panted, and nodded, forcing his legs to move as he followed.

Shaun opened his door and pulled Desmond inside, pushing him up against the wall again, and closing the door. He’d purposefully furnished this room more completely for obvious reasons. There was a soft glow from his reading lamp that was just weak enough to obscure Desmond’s face, though it didn’t really matter. Shaun had memorized every part of the young man ages ago. His lips found Desmond’s again, and his hand trailed down into the man’s pants. The other hand snaked up the man’s shirt, reacquainting itself with the hills and crevices of his abs. Desmond gasped when Shaun grasped his length and began to slide his hand up and down. His other hand worked at Desmond’s shirt, trying not to rip any buttons out. Desmond moaned against his mouth, slowly losing his self-consciousness again. There was nothing to worry about anymore. Shaun was here, and he’d figure everything out real soon because he was a fucking genius that gave the best damn handjobs ever--

“F-Fuck, hurry up and fuck me, please—!” Desmond gasped, breathless.

Shaun succeeded in getting his shirt unbuttoned, and peeled it off of Desmond’s body, letting it fall to the floor without a thought. “Senseless, or sweet sweet love?”

No hesitation. “Fucking senseless. I wanna feel it for a week.”

Shaun grinned, evilly. “Whatever you say, Princess.”

Desmond grabbed Shaun’s wrist, and yanked him over to the bed, flopping down upon it like he didn’t give a damn in the world what he looked like, or what names Shaun would call him next. He started shimmying out of his own pants as Shaun fell on top of him, barely holding himself up with his arms.

Shaun kissed him roughly. “You’re really gonna regret those words, love.”

“Does it look like I give a crap right now?” He continued to struggle with his pants more until Shaun pulled back, and tugged them off himself, along with Desmond’s boxers.

“Not in the slightest.” Shaun yanked open the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a familiar plastic bottle, squirting a generous amount onto his fingers. Desmond made a small whisper of recognition at the sound as Shaun tossed the bottle back into its rightful place, shutting the drawer again. Desmond spread his legs in anticipation, and gave a gasping moan as Shaun inserted a finger.

Shaun ran his other hand along the inside of Desmond’s leg as he worked, smirking. “Heh—oddly receptive for someone I haven’t seen in two years.”

Desmond panted. “I’ve kept myself well-prepared for you.”

Shaun chuckled. “Oho… But that wasn’t enough, was it? Has anyone else got a piece of this?” He added another finger, scissoring mercilessly.

Desmond hissed in pain, but relaxed as it quickly subsided. “I’ll admit—there were a couple guys.”

“Of course.”

“ … And a lot of girls.”

“Jesus, been getting around without me, haven’t you?”

Desmond bit back, defensively. “You try going two years with only your hand to keep you company--!”

“... I did.”

“And?”

“Didn’t last very long.” He added another finger and flexed them towards himself, trying to find that spot--

“G-God--!” Desmond gasped. Found it. In record time, too. Desmond had to fight not to buck down onto his fingers, giving a loud moan. “Fuck, if you don’t hurry, I’m…!” He bit his lip, hard.

Shaun frowned, incredulous. “Already? Jesus, you don’t even have my cock in you, yet.”

Desmond glared. “I h-haven’t had time to—Ngh—do anything for these last two weeks, because I’ve gotten home really late, and I was t-tired—FUCK, if you don’t stick your dick in my ass right now I’m gonna throw you against the wall and tear your ass open myself.” He panted.

Shaun stopped, then pulled his fingers out, stood up, and slowly removed his own clothing. “You have no idea how incredibly sexy you are when you try to threaten me.” He threw his shirt aside, and dropped his pants, using his slick hand to lubricate himself.

Desmond panted. “Do I sense that you actually _want_ to be thrown up against the wall?”

Shaun crawled onto the bed, taking his place in between Desmond’s legs. He claimed his lips again before pulling back to look him in the eyes. “No, I just think it’s cute when you fight back.”

Desmond panted. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Please don’t. You wouldn’t get to hear my sexy British accent call you my bitch anymore.” He thrusted all the way inside with one fluid motion.

Desmond gasped, and moaned loudly. “Asshole--!”

Shaun bit back a moan. “Yes, my dick is in your asshole. We know this.” Jesus, it had been much too long since he’d been able to do this. With someone he was… comfortable with. He didn’t have to hold back any stupid or rude comments. He could just completely ravage this man and there would be no judgment for it. He panted, and seized Desmond’s lips again as he began to move.

Desmond moaned against his mouth, fingers digging into the bedsheets. He gasped and moaned, punctuated by an occasional ‘oh god, _yes_ ’—much like that first day back in high school when he was thrown over Shaun’s desk. There was a slight worry in the back of his mind that Shaun’s neighbors might awake to hear him… but fuck Shaun’s neighbors, they’d get used to it. He wrapped his thighs around Shaun’s waist and intertwined his feet, reveling in the complete ecstasy of the moment. As the pleasure built up inside him, it grew more and more difficult to form coherent thoughts, and he could only focus on moving in time with Shaun.

Shaun had pulled back from his lips, and increased his pace mercilessly. He panted, allowing himself a few gasping moans in contrast to Desmond’s unrestrained keening. He always was a whiny little bitch—! He felt Desmond’s nails digging into his back with slight irritation, but then found it incredibly erotic when the man all but begged him to move faster. The pain was forgotten as Shaun let himself go uninhibited, thrusting hard and fast, and aiming for that perfect spot—

“A-Ahhh—!” Desmond cried, as he came loudly and violently over both of them. He continued to groan with the residual waves of pleasure as Shaun finished himself, and came deep inside him with a long moan, all but collapsing on top of the other man. They both lay there, panting for a good minute until Desmond felt the endorphins dissolve enough to form a sentence. “I might feel that for a week.”

Shaun smirked. “Then I’ve done my job.”

 

 


	10. A Chili Pepper For Hotness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, I tried so hard not to make Desmond sound whiny about taking too long in school... But I know some people just have it really rough and they take a long time, so I tried to keep it realistic (It took a LOT of meticulous planning to get through my degree in 4 years, so). Poor Desmond wah. Criticism is very much welcomed, I feel like I crapped on this chapter Dx

 

“And so, you go back to school, and you can live here.”

Desmond groaned. “It’s gonna suck…”

“Well, if you would just let me pay for it, then—“

“It’s like fifteen-thousand dollars a year, Shaun. I’m not gonna let you pay that. I’ve got my night job, at least.”

“Well, how do expect to get a better job if you haven’t got a degree?”

Desmond slumped down in the armchair. “I don’t know… I’ve failed so many classes, I’m not sure how I’d graduate on time. I’m not even sure if I like music anymore. Or even if I did in the first place.”

“We’ll figure out something. Just register for something and get back on track. That’s the first step. I won’t have an uncultured bum living in my flat.”

Desmond groaned.

“If you don’t quit moaning around like a lump of useless American, I’ll have to put you to work moaning in a more productive way.”

“Was that supposed to be some sort of lame sex joke?”

“Possibly. Now go do your paperwork. They have sneaky deadlines for things in the middle of summer.”

 

\--

 

“Yeah, I think I'm finished with music. This isn't working anymore.” He was referring to the Music History class he was trying to retake, and was failing again. He usually liked history, but these concepts just weren't clicking with him.

“Well, are you interested in anything _else?”_

“… Biology?”

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re going to be a scientist.”

“Well, there are a lot of things I like. I just can't see myself pursuing a career in them...”

“... So you're _not_ going to be a scientist?”

“Do you _want_ me to or not!?”

“... It would be interesting.” Shaun pushed his glasses up onto his nose.

“You mean you'd just like to see me in a lab coat. You've got some weird fetishes, man.”

“Where did I ever suggest that it was a fetish!?”

“You looked away all embarrassed! It was sooo cute~”

“Shut up and choose a major already.” Shaun went back to his paper-grading. One perk with teaching in a university setting was that it usually filtered out all the slackers who couldn't even get _into_ college. But now he had to deal with the slackers who were intelligent, but thought they could get by without doing the work. Infuriating...

“What about History? I've always liked that.”

Shaun frowned. “No. I don't want another historian to argue with every accursed day of the week.”

“Come on, you know I'm good at it! And I really like it.”

“It would be boring!”

“Not if we specialize in different periods. Your specialty is ancient civilizations, right? I've always enjoyed the Colonial period.”

“Of course you would, bloody Yank...”

Desmond had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “It's what brought us together~”

“Yes, how romantic. Think practically, Desmond! Eventually we would run out of things to argue about and I would probably hate you.”

“You wouldn't.”

“I would.”

“Nope.”

Shaun thought he would cry. “Just... pick a class and register for it. Stay Undeclared for now.” He gave up.

Demond gave a whoop of victory as he wrote in a biology class, and a World Civilizations class for his next semester.

 

\--

 

“I could be a polymath.”

Shaun looked up from his laptop. For once he was doing some recreational research for an article he'd been writing, and not grading papers. “Did you have to look that word up before coming to that conclusion?”

“For your information, I learned it in an art class. Da Vinci was one.”

“Interesting. You do realize that he was a genius, and you are not?”

“Way to dash my hopes and dreams, man.” Though Desmond wasn't actually discouraged, and he kept at it. “It doesn't mean I can't pursue everything though.”

“Well, that would take a while. Are you prepared to spend your entire life studying?”

Desmond smirked. “Socrates said the first step in learning everything is realizing that you don't know anything.”

“That's not the exact quote, and that doesn't answer my question.”

“Then uh... 'There is no top, there are always further heights to reach'? By Jascha Heifitz.”

“That's just depressing. Do you have a list of inspiring quotes you read each morning to help you get out of bed?”

“I'm sure you have your methods for facing your students every day.”

Shaun sobbed on the inside. He was right.

 

\--

 

“Hey, you're on Rate My Professor!”

Shaun frowned. “It hasn't even been a year since I was hired.”

“You wanna know what students think of you?” Desmond grinned.

Shaun hesitated. “... Yes.” If there was anyone that he _couldn't_ hide his curiosity from, it was Desmond.

Desmond cleared his throat and read aloud. “'I hate this guy. It's impossible to get an A in his class. I worked my ass off and barely got away with a B-minus. I could have taken an easier class and learned just as much, without all the anal-retentive grading. Two stars.' Damn.”

Shaun grimaced. “That's just sad. I almost feel sorry for them.”

“'It gets better. 'Professor Hastings is the biggest hardass I've ever had as a professor. You take his class, you will fail. But he has the greatest ass you will ever see, so FIVE STARS!!'”

Shaun coughed tea into the sleeve of his sweater. “What--!?”

“I'm not the only one who noticed, I guess. 'God, this guy is so hard, but it is so worth it. He gave me a newfound respect for hard work, and he has a great ass.' Gave you five stars.”

“Jesus, roughly what percentage of these reviewers are anonymously hitting on me!?”

“Uhh...” Desmond counted them. “It looks like at least forty-three percent.”

“This is why nobody pays attention. It has to be.”

“They gave you a chili pepper for hotness.”

“Okay, I understand!” Shaun put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes. Now he would constantly be reminded that a lot of his students were staring at his ass throughout the whole period.

“Oh god, one more. 'This guy is like twenty-something and has a PhD and is funny and wears glasses I would marry the shit out of this guy.'”

Shaun groaned. “Just like that? Run-on sentence and all?”

Desmond just cackled.

 

\--

 

“A student hit on me today.”

Desmond raised an eyebrow. “Did you hit back?”

Shaun guffawed. “No! He was obviously desperate. It was off-putting.”

“Well, _I_ was desperate...”

“But you were desperate in a cute, blushing bride sort of way. You didn't offer services after class in return for a better grade.”

“Holy shit, he actually did that!?”

Shaun coughed into his fist. “It may have been a little more than hitting on me.”

“Look at you, you're blushing!”

“Shut up!”

“I bet he was the reviewer who said he would marry you.”

“You're grounded. No leaving the bedroom for the rest of the night.”

“Wow, is this conversation making you excited?”

He cackled some more as Shaun tried tickling him to death.

 

\--

 

This is how Desmond's third year ended. He had tried to finish his music degree, but only passed three more classes. There was no way he would have a degree in the next year. And so this is why Shaun found Desmond lying on the couch in a rather depressed-looking fetal position. He frowned. “What's wrong with you, your favorite television show was canceled or something?”

Desmond's reaction involved him swiveling his eyes toward the man in the doorway, and blinking. Shaun realized that maybe something serious was wrong with the man. He shut the door and set his keys down. “Mate, are you alright?”

Desmond murmured, “I don't know what to do anymore.”

Shaun sighed, his eyes downcast. “We've had this conversation before. Just register for classes, and we'll go from there.”

“I hate music, I have twelve more classes for a biology degree, and eleven more for a history degree. There's no way I'll finish next year. I'm still Undeclared, and I don't know what I wanna do.”

Shaun scoffed lightly as he set his things down on the coffee table. “Bloody hell, you're gonna be in school your whole life if you don't pick it up.”

Desmond frowned, and sat up. “I'm serious! Sorry I had a friggen identity crisis in the middle of my degree program, but I seriously have no idea what I want to do. And I'll lose financial aid after my senior year, so I can't pay for another year.” He clenched his jaw in frustration. “I'll have to take out more loans, and I'll be forever indebted to society--”

Shaun cut him off. “Wait, _more_ loans? Desmond, when did you take out loans?”

Desmond hesitated. “... My third semester. I couldn't pay for my dorm over the summer.”

“Why didn't you tell me you were in debt already!? Jesus, Desmond...” He ran a hand through his hair. “... What the hell am I going to do with you? You infuriate me.”

Desmond looked at the carpet. “Sorry.” He looked up when Shaun placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Mate, don't worry about it. We'll figure it out. And you don't have to do this alone, how many times have I told you?”

Desmond's conviction faltered. “Lots...”

“And are you going to let me help? Or are you going to be forever indebted to society?”

And that's what broke what was left of Desmond's stubborn pride. “Why do you put up with me?”

Shaun pulled away, and smirked. “Because no one else is good enough for me.”

He would have loved for it to be left at that, but he was assaulted with a hug and there was all kinds of awkward fluffiness he would have rather done without. As is usually the case with Desmond Miles.

 


	11. I Smell Weed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond fulfills some dumb music degree requirement in a very creative way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Assassin’s Creed and I don’t know shit about New York State. Dr. Winslow is my pitiful creation.
> 
> The Blues concert actually happened to me, but for a different class. And there was no sexy time with Shaun Hastings, obviously. The noise and the weed were very real though. More music degree shenanigans 8l

Since Desmond was too prideful to mooch off of Shaun until he figured out what he was going to do with his life, he kept his night job and studied when he could. He focused on what he enjoyed, which was mainly history and science. He still had trouble solidifying a career for himself, so he focused on learning as much as he could, and enjoying life while it lasted.

One of the biggest kicks he got out of college life was the look on Shaun’s face when he saw Desmond sitting in the back of his Ancient Civilizations class.

And when he bolted out of there after the lecture the first day (because in Shaun’s classes, the first day was _always_ lecture), he chuckled at the text he got.

_What the devil are you doing in my class?_

He chuckled to himself as he answered. _You should look at your class roster_ before _class starts, professor._

Shaun answered back. _We can’t do this! I didn’t think I had to tell you about this, but it’s a really bad idea. I could get fired._

Desmond frowned. Was it really that big a deal? He really only wanted this class because the other professor was terrible… _Come on, no one will find out. Unless you can’t keep it in your pants during class, then everyone will see._

The reply was a little more startling. _If you take my class, we can’t be together. I am serious._

Desmond thought for a moment. Was he serious…? It was really hard to tell, especially through text. Maybe this was a dumb idea… Then he got a better idea.

_Well then… What if we break up when we go to school, then get back together when we go home?=P_

Shaun took a little longer to reply. Desmond shrugged, and grabbed his bike from the rack outside. He had made it past the library on the way to the road when he felt a vibration in his pocket.

_You’re an idiot. I don’t want to see you today._

Desmond grinned. Good thing he didn’t get off of work until midnight.

“You don’t intend to drop it, do you?”

“Nope, you’re a really interesting professor.”

Shaun clenched his jaw, and Desmond threw his arms open in desperation. “Look, no one will find out, okay? And even if they do, they’ll have no evidence to fire you with. I mean it’s not like there’s PDA all over the place they can use. The worst offence is my phone, and they can’t look at that without a warrant. Can they get a warrant without any evidence? No.” He folded his arms in defiance.

Shaun glared. “You are making this much more difficult than it needs to be,”

Desmond bit back, “Well, if you don’t make a big deal out of it, no one will know.”

Shaun clenched his jaw, then sighed in defeat. “Did you really have to pick _my_ class?”

Desmond raised an eyebrow. “Do you _want_ me to take Winslow’s class?”

Shaun frowned. “… No. Don’t do that to yourself.” He shuddered as Desmond pumped a fist in victory.

 

\--

 

The semester went by without any problem, and Desmond ended up getting a B in Shaun’s class. He was thoroughly punished at home when Shaun forced him to recite all the emperors of ancient Rome while doing terrible things to him. Well, not so terrible. Okay yes, terrible. _Cruel._ He only got about halfway down the list before he forgot and just begged to finish. Shaun just laughed.

In spring semester, Desmond took a Psychology class, Child Development. Why not? He sat on the sofa one late night/early morning finishing up an article analysis while Shaun graded yet more papers. “I know why I don’t like kids.”

Shaun raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know it was so.”

Desmond motioned to his article. “They’re evil! They have no sense of morality or empathy. They’re innately selfish. I mean, it’s not their fault, but it’s a little much to deal with until they’re old enough to not be little spawns of Satan.” He sighed and collapsed against the back of the couch. “I have no idea how my parents dealt with me and didn’t kill me.”

“And you just realized this?”

Desmond nodded. “Never really thought about it. Now I know I could never have kids.”

Shaun sniffed melodramatically. “This is why I love you. We’ll never have kids.”

Desmond jerked his head around in disbelief. “That’s not the only reason.”

“It’s a big one. If you wanted to adopt some snot-nosed kid I might leave you.”

Desmond threw a pillow at him and pouted. Shaun cackled at Desmond’s face when he got him a baby pacifier for his twenty-third birthday.

 

\--

 

The next semester, Desmond took a Humanities class that required him to go to three “cultural events”. And he waited until the end of the semester to go to the last one, and was stuck with attending a last-minute concert. A Blues concert.

“Please remind me why I’m here, again?” Shaun cleaned his glasses as they waited in line to be admitted. It was freezing, and he was shivering in his pea coat. “I have much better things to do than accompany you to an event that you got _yourself_ into.”

Desmond rubbed his hands together for warmth. He wished he had a nice pair of gloves right about now… “Because you love me.”

Shaun glared. “I hate Blues. There is no explanation necessary for this. Why Blues!?”

Desmond sighed painfully. “Because literally every other event going on this week was related to Christmas, and that doesn’t count for the class.”

“You do realize that I will inflict every bit of pain on you that I receive tonight.”

“Yeah, I’ve had worse.” Shaun looked at him incredulously. “What? Come on, it won’t be _that_ bad. They’re good quality musicians, or they wouldn’t be this popular.”

“Rolling with the masses now, are we? I thought I taught you better.”

“I taught _myself_ better, thank you!” Desmond prodded his shoulder to emphasize his point. “If I wanna have the same tastes as the masses, then it’s my decision.”

“You can have those tastes in private, away from me.”

Desmond kept at it. “Blues gave birth to American Jazz! Which lead to Rock music, just so you know—”

“Alright, I understand!” Shaun gave up, frustrated. How many arguments has Desmond won in the last ten conversations, ten? How in the world had that happened?

“I don’t actually like Blues. I just don’t hate it.”

“Well, you’ve never been to a concert, have you?”

“Nope. Have you?”

“Never.”

Desmond chuckled. “Don’t judge until the night’s over, then.”

They got their seats later, in the higher half of the theatre. They found out that there would be an opening act of a rather well-known Blues singer first. Her voice was strong and well-trained even if the music itself wasn't for him, so Desmond tried not to judge. And she had an amazing tenor saxophonist to back her up, so he focused on that. Shaun on the other hand looked like he might tear his eyeballs out. He had earplugs in because of the incredible noise, and Desmond rolled his eyes.

Once the opening act was over, the main guy came on with his band.

Desmond was frowning. It wasn’t… _terrible..._ But he didn’t really want to listen to it, either. It was a monotonous drone of blues guitars and repetitive chord progressions, and he couldn’t even understand what the guy was singing about. Needless to say, he wasn’t having a good time.

Shaun looked positively miserable. He was polite enough to sit there and endure it, and not mess with his phone even though all the people around him were drunk and screaming. Desmond bit his lip and smiled apologetically.

Shaun glared back, then typed something on his phone. He showed it to Desmond, indicating that there was no way in hell he was going to yell over the screaming audience.

_I smell weed._

Desmond frowned, and sniffed. He hadn’t noticed before. Huh. He looked to Shaun and raised an eyebrow when he typed another message.

_Bathroom break. Now._

Desmond gulped, and followed Shaun out of the hall to the bathroom. Luckily, no one had puked in there, yet.

Shaun pushed the door in and turned to face Desmond, immediately. “Do we seriously have to sit through this? You have your ticket stub, isn’t that proof?”

Desmond shook his head. “Nah, I need the singer’s signature. Gotta stay until the end.”

“That’s ridiculous. What happens if you can’t get his signature? He’s a busy man, you know. Gotta get to the after-concert party and get wasted, and all.”

“Well it was either that or write a five-page essay about the whole thing, and I don’t remember very much except for the saxophonist in the opening act.”

“Would you rather write that, or endure this?”

Desmond deadpanned. “I have way too much work to bullshit an essay right now. Sorry.”

Shaun groaned, and scrubbed his face with a hand as he paced slowly. He had to think of a way to survive the night. Not even the bathroom was safe from the booming and grinding of the theatre.

Desmond thought for a moment. “Well, we could just… wait here until it ends.”

Shaun looked at him incredulously. “Here. In the bathroom.”

Desmond nodded. “Yup. It’s better than in the auditorium, right?”

“Not if I’m going to look like some bum who doesn’t even want to be here!”

Desmond thought again. “What if we just get drunk?”

Shaun shook his head. “Driving, idiot.”

“Oh, right… Well, we could have sex.”

Shaun squinted.

Desmond shrugged. “It’s an option. It would pass the time, and maybe distract us from the music—”

“And we would be one of those people who have sex in public places during events that they really shouldn’t be attending if they’re going to do that--! Jesus, Desmond, are you _actually_ suggesting this?”

Desmond shrugged again. “Or we could just make out forever.”

“Yeah, and if a poor bloke comes in to relieve himself he’ll get an eyeful of men macking on each other. Brilliant plan, Desmond.”

“Well, we can go in a stall?” Shaun just shook his head as he paced again. “Or we could just wait here, doing nothing. Your call.”

Shaun frowned, incredulous. “You’re actually suggesting this.”

“Well, what else are we supposed to do? Just stand here until it’s over? You look bored.” He paused, and changed his tone. He inched towards the Brit. “And I have to make it up to you.”

Shaun swallowed. Was he seriously trying to seduce him in a public bathroom? Only Desmond, ladies and gentlemen. And he was bloody _succeeding._

Desmond pushed him back into a stall and claimed his lips, letting instincts take over—getting Shaun to forget everything else but him wasn’t usually a problem.

Shaun managed a quip amidst Desmond’s ministrations. “You do realize how filthy this bathroom is, yes?”

Desmond hummed against his neck. “Just like you, dirty Limey.”

Shaun bit back, “Yank.”

“Pom.”

“Septic.”

Desmond chuckled. “It’s funny because we’re in a bathroom.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Desmond pinned the Brit’s arms to the stall door and grinned evilly. “Only as disgusting as you like me to be.”

Shaun sank back again at Desmond’s tone. Somehow he had learned this, this _thing_ that could make Shaun shut up. Shut up because all he wanted was to hear more of that voice. He let his head fall back against the stall, trying not to think about how many different kinds of bacteria were making their homes in his hair. He’d shower at home… a lovely idea right about now. He let out a moan as Desmond worked his bloody _magic_ on seemingly every inch of his torso as the same time. His coat has grown much too hot, and he struggled to remove it before Desmond slid it off easily. He felt hands all over him—under his shirt, down his pants in the back, one pinning his arm back when he tried to use Desmond as an anchor… it was impossible. But the haze around his head didn’t give a damn how it happened, because Desmond Miles was making out with him and grinding up against the front of his pants—

Desmond broke away suddenly, panting. Shaun frowned, annoyed. “What?”

Desmond shook his head. “This music is such a fucking turn off.”

Shaun glared. “If you stop now, I will leave you here alone.”

Desmond grinned, then dropped to his knees. He pitied any man who came into the bathroom during this last stretch of the concert.

 


	12. Desmond's Friends Are Damn Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond fucks up and then makes it up to Shaun! More PWP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There wasn’t any angst in the last chapter. This must be remedied! Though it is still probably 90 percent fanservice. When will the plot happen? .... Next chapter. Next chapter is the last one.
> 
> I'm terribly sorry, but I seem to have realized a very important fact about myself: I cannot write smut I just can't do it Dx This was going to be a smut scene but I just.... can't. I hope mediocre make-out scenes and implied sexy times are enough for my audience.

Desmond frowned at his computer (which he had finally bought with his own money, thank you! No way he’d let Shaun buy one for him again after the first one quit), and hesitated in typing something.

Shaun walked in with a fresh cup of tea, sipping it lightly so as not to burn himself. “What are you up to?”

Desmond continued his frown. “I haven’t talked to my dad in a while.”

Shaun raised an eyebrow. “Like how long?”

“A few months.”

Shaun raised both eyebrows this time. “Oh, so you still talk to him.”

“Sometimes… He still likes to give me shit. But it’s easier to deal with that stuff when you’re over a thousand miles away and you know it’s not true.”

Shaun sat down, feigning only half-interest. “What kind of shit does he give you?”

Desmond pursed his lips. “Well, I told him about how I still wasn’t done with my degree and he called me a failure. And I don’t know what degree I wanted in the first place, so…” He sighed. “I’m just keeping relationships going, I guess.”

Shaun frowned into his teacup. “You know, you don’t owe them anything. It’s not like they _gave_ you anything, or supported you in your decision.”

Desmond hesitated. “I know… I just feel like I abandoned them. I could have helped them if I really wanted to, but I ran away.”

“You didn’t run away.” Shaun’s voice was firm, but true. “You took control of your life, and left anyone who would hinder you behind. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Do you still talk to your parents?”

Shaun hesitated. “Not much, no. I’ve got my own life now, and they understand.”

“Cool…” Desmond’s fingers twitched aimlessly above his keyboard.

Shaun sighed. “If it makes you feel better talking to them, knock yourself out. Eventually they'll accept that you're responsible for your own life, and they'll be glad about it.”

Desmond gave a lopsided smile.

 

\--

 

Shaun frowned. “It’s almost our anniversary again.”

Desmond raised his eyebrows. “Wow. I forgot. Shit, how many is this…?”

Shaun continued frowning. “Six… We forgot the fifth.”

“Whoops.” Desmond chuckled. “Well, last year I was in the middle of an identity crisis, so that might have contributed. Sorry…”

“No matter. It’s an odd number, anyway. How do you like Italian?” Shaun was rifling through his planner, looking for the date.

Desmond frowned. “Uh… It’s great. Whatever you want, I guess. Why the sudden excitement over it?”

Shaun deadpanned. “Think about it, Desmond. We met six years ago. We have been in a steady relationship—two years of it being long-distance!—for six years. I’d say that’s quite a feat.”

“I only remember because it was midterms time…” He gave a sheepish grin.

Shaun scowled. “Really, Desmond, you could at least _pretend_ you remembered. Have some tact, man! Anyway… I can book a table at Viva Napoli if you like.”

Desmond raised a brow as he smiled. “Sure, if you really want to? I’ll go anywhere with you.”

Shaun nodded curtly. “Good. Because I love this place as much as I love you.”

“Aww, you’re making me blush. You like me just as much as you like Carbonara and cheese bread.”

“Take that as a compliment. They’re damn good.”

Desmond laughed. “Well, how about this. I love you _more_ than Carbonara and cheese bread.”

Shaun frowned, then scoffed. “Impossible. If you had to choose between me and food, you'd ditch me in three seconds.”

“Nonsense.”

“Or maybe you'd just eat me.”

“I already do~”

Shaun facepalmed. “Should have seen that coming from a mile away...”

Desmond busted out laughing.

 

\--

 

They wrote down the reservation date for two weeks later, and decided on 6:30. Then Desmond ran off to his job and proceeded to socialize with his idiots of friends. To be fair, he fit right in with them, and he acted stupid just as much as they did. It was how they survived the nights full of drunken patrons and grinding, monotonous house music.

They had actually convinced Desmond to drink more than usual one night, and he may or may not have gotten on top of the bar once or twice. It was really fun. He fucking loved his job, sometimes.

Flynn offered to drive him home, since he was already sober, and Desmond would probably have difficulty riding a bicycle. Desmond didn't have the will to argue, and he really didn't want to ride anyway, so it worked out for everyone. Flynn told really stupid jokes that shouldn't have been so damn funny, but Desmond was still buzzed and a lot of stupid things were funny. He wondered if Flynn had any video evidence of the night that he'd have to destroy later. But that was for a time when he could concentrate.

He felt his phone vibrate, probably Shaun asking when he'd be home. They were almost there, so he didn't bother checking, yet. Flynn told another stupid fucking joke as they pulled up, and Desmond practically stumbled out of the car, Flynn laughing at him the whole way. Desmond doubled over laughing, trying to tell him to fuck off and get outta there. Flynn pulled the door shut, and with a short “Smell you later!” he drove off.

Desmond was still laughing when he made it in the door, kicking off his shoes and loosening his tie. He pulled out his phone to see who had texted him. He was right, it was Shaun... with not one but _four_ messages.

 

_18:25_

_Where are you? It's almost 6:30._

 

_19:00_

… _You cannot be serious._

 

_19:13_

_You forgot, didn't you._

 

And a final one, the one he'd felt in the car: _Please let me know if you're going to need a ride, I'm getting tired._

Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach as Desmond remembered what day it was. But, Shaun surely would have reminded him, right!? His heart picked up in pace as he rushed into the house, quickly sobering up. “Shaun? You here?”

He heard a mellow reply from the living room. “Yeah, here.” Shaun sat on the couch, one elbow on the arm while he read a book. He didn't look up.

Well... At least he didn't seem angry? Desmond walked into his line of sight tentatively. “Hey, um...” he trailed off. There was no excuse. He fucked up. And he didn't even know how to say it. Apologizing wasn't going to fix it.

Shaun still didn't look up. “Did you have fun?”

The weight in Desmond's stomach grew as the shame threatened to consume him. “Yeah, I... It was really busy, and I didn't feel my phone vibrate, and I'm a fucking idiot and I forgot.” The last phrase was rushed, like he wanted to get the horrible taste of those words out of his mouth as soon as possible.

Shaun closed his eyes and sighed through his nose in slight annoyance, rolling his eyes behind his lids. “It's fine. Really. I should have reminded you again before you got to work.”

Desmond bit his lip nervously. “Um... You reminded me this morning, didn't you?”

Shaun looked up at Desmond, over his glasses. His incredulous look was all Desmond needed to see, and he groaned in response, turning away in shame. “I'm... _so_ sorry. I don't... I can't even say anything to that. I'm an idiot and I'm really sorry.” He was begging, and he knew it. He would grovel at Shaun's feet if he needed to, just to stop Shaun from _looking_ at him like that.

Shaun sighed through his nose again. “I don't want to hear that you're sorry. I'm annoyed because you didn't even _hear_ me, and you answered me anyway. You weren't listening.”

Desmond bit his lip again. “I know. Now. I know now, because I didn't before. Um... I won't do it again. Promise.”

Shaun raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “Really.”

“Yeah, really.” Desmond was going to bite his lower lip off if he kept this up.

Shaun gave him a look that was difficult to read. He looked calm, but Desmond _knew_ he was annoyed. He wasn't getting out of this, was he? Shaun was going to hate him, he fucked up. He fucked _up,_ God, why couldn't he just have remembered this stupid date--

He was so busy freaking out in his own head that he missed the moment where Shaun leaned forward onto his knees and smiled devilishly. Desmond's eyes shot open in surprise, and slight terror. He forced himself to stay calm because, well, Shaun was smiling, right? That was good, right?

Shaun spoke calmly, not letting show any of his ulterior motives. “And how do you intend to make this up to me, Desmond? I waited for you for over an hour. I looked quite the fool.”

Desmond's mouth went dry, trying to think of anything, _anything_ he could do to make things right. “Um... Anything I _haven't_ done before?”

Shaun grinned, devilishly. “You get to lie there, and let me do whatever I want. And, you have to make really odd, terrible sounds, very loudly. You might have to sing along with a song I pull up on my phone. And it has to be loud. I want my neighbors to hear. I want them to be embarrassed.”

Desmond felt like his head would explode from the pressure. “Th-That's cruel to your neighbors.”

Shaun continued to grin. “And it will be all your fault.”

Des whimpered. He could do this. Anything for love, right?

 

\--

 

So. That was one thing that Shaun would never, ever let him live down. Okay. Desmond tried not to burn with embarrassment every time he saw their neighbors. Tried, and failed. Anyway, Shaun had one thing that he merely had to _mention_ in order to cripple Desmond with embarrassment.

He couldn't stop thinking about how that couldn't have been enough. Shaun would use that to embarrass him, only because he felt hurt by what Desmond did. Or didn't do. Which was remember a stupid date. Ugh. So Desmond made it a task to find out something else he could do to apologize, and show that yes, he really did care about Shaun, _a whole fucking lot_ , and he was willing to work a little harder to make this apparent.

He couldn't really think of anything that would make a big impact until Shaun started coming home exhausted from his two university jobs. Apparently there were at least 500 million more faculty meetings and endless stress because accreditors were visiting, determining if certain degree programs were being taught correctly and according to standards and protocol. It was infuriating because these educational “professionals” had no fucking clue how to teach these classes, and yet they felt they had the authority to judge the performance of professors and their material.

Or that's how Shaun had put it. Desmond hadn't really noticed anything at his university. He expected that he'd encounter one of these people sooner or later, walking into his class to observe the lecture. It didn't sound fun. Anyway, the point was that Shaun was coming home sometimes later than _Desmond_ would, exhausted and irritable. Desmond knew that if there was anything he could do to ease this, Shaun would probably be grateful.

And so, he planned.

On a night when Shaun was running particularly late, driving home from a late meeting at his other university, Desmond readied himself. It was long past midnight, and Shaun was probably planning to just flop into the armchair and doze off until his neck hurt, then go to bed. But of course, Desmond had a slightly different plan for him.

Shaun came in at 12:52 A.M. Looking rather worse for the wear. His shirt was rumpled and his tie pulled down away from his neck, his hair looking like he'd run his fingers through it countless times throughout the evening. He turned to the door and locked it without a word, as Desmond hid quietly in the hallway.

Shaun sighed in exhausted frustration, and plopped his bag down next to the chair, not even caring to take it to his desk as he usually did compulsively. He sank down into the chair, and didn't move again.

Desmond crept over, tentative. It was absolutely _imperative_ that he got the feel right, because if Shaun wasn't in the mood for his plan then he'd just get annoyed. And that would be the exact opposite reaction that Desmond wanted. He walked normally then, so as not to startle the other man. He spoke quietly. “Hey, babe.”

Shaun did nothing in response, just sat there with his eyes closed. Desmond waited a little before prodding more, so Shaun wouldn't think he was nagging. Hopefully he would be too tired to care. “How was your day? You barely texted at all.”

Shaun frowned, and grunted in response. Desmond chuckled. “That bad, huh? Well...” He had to word it right, he had to _sell_ it. “Would you be opposed to a massage?”

Shaun's eyebrows knitted together, and his eyes cracked open. He turned his head a little to look at Desmond sitting on the couch. He sat there for a few seconds before speaking. “What do you want?”

Desmond tried not to overdo it. He resisted the urge to act overly melodramatic and say something about how _hurt_ he was that Shaun thought so low of him. Instead, he merely chuckled and smiled. “Nothing... I just thought you might enjoy it after a long work day. Unless your department secretary gives you massages, then you might not appreciate it as much.”

Shaun frowned incredulously. “No, she doesn't.” He groaned at the exertion. “I... don't know. I'm tired.”

Desmond hummed in response, and got up slowly to walk over behind the armchair. “And I know the perfect way to put you to sleep. You won't have to do a thing, just sit there.”

“I can't guarantee I won't fall asleep right here. Then I'll wake up with a neck ache.”

“Well,” Desmond replied. “I'd just have to carry you back to the bedroom, then. What do you say?” He didn't even wait for a reply before sinking his hands down to Shaun's shoulders and squeezing them firmly,

“I don't think you can _oh--”_ Shaun winced at the pressure on his aching muscles, but soon groaned under Desmond's hands. “You didn't-- let me finish...”

Desmond gave a low chuckle. “You don't look like you _want_ to.”

Shaun groaned again and continued, “If you stop, I will get up and strangle you. It will be painful, but I will do it.”

“Relax, just let my fingers to the work.”

Shaun probably hadn't consciously noticed in his sleep-deprived and frazzled state, but Desmond had adopted that same low tone of voice that drove him absolutely _crazy._ Desmond hoped it would have the same effect, in this case.

Shaun did shut up, either from Desmond's tone or from exhaustion. Shaun was a very reserved person, and he rarely let himself loose. But Desmond's hands were working quiet moans from him, probably aided by his inhibited brain. Desmond worked his way across Shaun's shoulders, up his neck, and finally down onto his shoulder blades, reducing the man to putty under him. He smirked.

He _really_ enjoyed doing that.

Shaun cracked open an eye when he realized that Desmond had stopped. Desmond had moved in front of him, and was removing his tie gently. “Why'd you stop...?” His speech was a little slurred, as if Desmond had managed to relax Shaun's ability to speak as well.

Desmond only smirked, and continued to speak in that deep, smooth tone. “Just relax. Whatever happens, I'll take care of it.”

Shaun blinked. “Whatever happen—mph!” He was silenced as Desmond pressed their mouths together. Desmond held Shaun's face steady so he could control how deep they went, in case Shaun went too fast. There was no comfortable way to do this other than sit on Shaun's lap, but he wasn't sure the man would appreciate that just yet. He sat on the arm and held himself up with his other hand while he held Shaun's face and kissed him.

Shaun moaned against his mouth and went to grab Desmond by the hair. Desmond took his hand and pulled it away, breaking the kiss. “Hey, relax. You're tired, remember?” When Shaun gave a grunt of frustration, he kissed him again, more forcefully. Then he pulled away and stood up.

Shaun made a low noise of objection. “What are you doing?”

Desmond smirked as he knelt down in front of the chair. “Gonna massage your legs.”

Shaun swallowed, frowning. “If you do that, I'll get a stiffy, and you'll have to take care of _that,_ too.”

Desmond's smirk didn't falter. “You make it sound like I wouldn't enjoy that.”

Shaun's eyebrows rose a fraction. Desmond continued to smirk as he reached to undo Shaun's pants. The voice was working.

Shaun stammered weakly, “A-Ah, you can't mean to do that here, in my chair? I like this chair.”

Desmond chuckled. “No, we'll finish in the bedroom. Your chair will be left pristine as your ass, my prince.”

A puff of hot air blew past Shaun's lips as he frowned. “What are you on about?” His voice was airy, labored.

Desmond pulled Shaun's belt away and threw it behind him. “Just enjoy it, okay?” He chuckled, and pulled Shaun's pants open, but pulled away and pressed his fingers into Shaun's thighs.

A moan escaped Shaun's throat and he gasped. He hadn't expected that. Desmond was always one step ahead of Shaun's hazy mind. This was gonna be _easy._ He pressed his hands firmly, but not too hard, and moved them up and down Shaun's thighs, working out the tension and aches from sitting too long. Then, he worked his way towards the tops of Shaun's legs, the crease where the thigh met his hip, and he leaned in and breathed hot air against Shaun's clothed erection.

Shaun moaned louder, his jaw slack. “Whatever you're doing, get on with it--!”

Desmond made sure not to feel defensive. For this to work, he had to make it seem like that wasn't even an option. He was in charge. “You wanna finish this in the bedroom?”

Shaun rolled his eyes, and looked down at Desmond with a very unfocused, annoyed look. “Yes, what else would I be talking about?”

Desmond smirked up from Shaun's lap. Shaun swallowed again. His usual biting demeanor wasn't working. Desmond answered. “You want me to finish you off? We haven't even gotten started.”

Shaun stared at him through heavy lids, hit breath hot. “What are you doing?”

Desmond smirked. “Here's what I propose: I take you back to our room, and finish this massage. Then, when you can't handle it anymore, I take it a little... further. All you gotta do is lie there.”

Shaun frowned. “Further?”

Desmond stood slowly, and leaned over to kiss him again. He broke away just far enough to speak. “I'm gonna massage you until you scream.”

Shaun's breath was hot and unsteady against Desmond's mouth. “You, want to...”

Desmond hummed in response. “Well. You could refuse, I guess. But then I wouldn't get to finish you the way I want. But if you're uncomfortable with it...”

Shaun gave a short, humorless chuckle. “It's hardly my first time.”

Desmond raised his eyebrows, stroking Shaun's jawline. “Well?”

Shaun swallowed again. His mouth was dry. “... Sure.”

Desmond grinned wickedly. “I'll be gentle, my prince.”

Shaun growled and pushed him away before moving to stand on unsteady legs. “Hurry up, before I change my mind.”

Desmond smirked as he led Shaun back towards the bedroom. He'd make sure the man could walk the next day, of course. Just barely.

 

 


	13. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the Plot happens. Enjoy the single plot chapter of the entire fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This did NOT WANT TO BE WRITTEN but here it is. Voila. 
> 
> It was literally only 1 percent plot I am so ashamed.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, message me, whatevs. Peace out, guys.

That spring, Desmond declared his major: Psychology. He didn't know what he was going to _do_ with it yet, but he really enjoyed it. He liked being able to understand and help people. Plus, he could get into Shaun's head easier. He didn't even have to rely on his knowledge of the man to know what he was thinking, anymore. Shaun was both infuriated, and secretly proud. At least he'd finally found his calling.

 

Desmond calculated that with his work schedule, he'd graduate in three more years. He tried not to think about how _old_ he would be. He spent his twenty-fourth birthday hunched over a paper that was due the next day, Shaun being insufferable about him procrastinating as usual. He hadn't procrastinated, he was just... busy with other things! He knew exactly what he was doing. It didn't keep him from grumbling about it, though.

 

Shaun rewarded him for finishing his paper on time, later that evening. So it wasn't a complete waste of a birthday, he mused.

 

It went on like that—happily, sickeningly-sweet and relaxed, and completely lacking in the urgency that Desmond had felt in years past. So what if he was taking longer to get a degree? He was happy, he had a good job, a good boyfriend that made him enjoy every moment, he actually _liked_ what he was studying--

 

Desmond didn't notice the car until it had clipped his back tire, sending him flying into a parked car.

 

He lay there in the gutter between two parked cars, dazed, wondering what the hell had happened and why his leg was aching so badly. Someone was yelling “Dude!” over and over right in his ear. What a dick. Shit, had he crashed? At least he'd been wearing a helmet. That would have sucked. His head was still jolted from the impact, and his vision swam as he tried to focus again. He tried to sit up, leaning on one hand before a stabbing pain lit up his left shoulder and he cried out.

 

Aw, frick. Shaun was gonna kill him.

 

\--

 

It was three A.M.

 

Three in the fucking morning before someone picked up Desmond's phone and mentioned that he was in the hospital. Shaun had neglected to put himself of Desmond's emergency contact list, because well, Desmond wasn't usually this _stupid._

 

No, that wasn't fair. They said it had been a hit-and-run, and that wasn't his fault, and God _damn_ it all, Shaun was worried. Only a little longer until the visitors-that-weren't-family were allowed in.

 

Well. This certainly gave them a reason to get married.

 

They let him in finally, and he looked at the pathetic being in front of him. Desmond's face was fine, luckily, probably because of that helmet he made the idiot wear. His left arm was in a sling, however, and his right knee was in a brace. They said his leg had been trapped under his back wheel, and the car had run it over, dislocating his knee and tearing a few ligaments. If everything went well, he would be able to walk in six weeks.

 

And as for his shoulder, he'd broken his clavicle and would be forced to wear a brace for at least six weeks, putting no weight on his left arm. That would make it difficult to use crutches.

 

Desmond was going to be angry when he woke up.

 

For now, he was barely conscious, doped up on painkillers, not making a single coherent statement. Shaun tried to enjoy himself by taking a few videos for posterity.

 

\--

 

“Come on, I've only had one today--”

 

Shaun shook his head. “And that was two hours ago. You were the one that said you could handle it.”

 

Desmond groaned. He limped back to the couch where he had spent most of his days for the last two weeks. “If you let me take another, I'll be able to _walk_ normally. I could help cook!”

 

Shaun scoffed. “I don't want your dirty drug-induced cooking, thanks. You'll lie there until you get better.

 

Desmond flopped onto the couch, grunting in pain when it jolted his shoulder. “I just wanna do stuff... I miss my bike. I miss my _job_.”

 

Shaun raised his eyebrows, patronizing. “Well, you could try walking with one crutch. I'll take a video for when you fall on your face.”

 

Desmond threw a hand up from where he lay on the couch. “Bring it. I'll do it, right here. Then at least I can _move._ ”

 

Shaun shook his head, and brought a crutch over to the poor man. “Be careful. I don't want to have to drive you back to the hospital when you break your _other_ clavicle.”

 

Desmond glared at him as he tried to stand. “Don't jinx me, man!” He rose and stumbled, and barely found his balance against the one crutch. He was gonna have a hell of a time, for sure.

 

Shaun frowned. They'd never found the person who hit Desmond, and Shaun was nervous about letting him ride a bike through the crowded streets of New York any longer. “We should get you a car.”

 

Desmond looked over from where he was struggling to take a step. “Huh?”

 

“A car. We should get you one, so when you get hit by another car, you won't bloody _die._ I'd be rather cross with you.”

 

Desmond scoffed. “You know I can't afford that. You can, _barely_ , and I'm not letting you buy me a car.”

 

Shaun frowned. “Desmond...”

 

“No way, man. I'll just... be more careful. Seriously, I don't think I was paying attention. I totally could have dodged it.”

 

“Either you get a car, or you're walking.”

 

Desmond looked in disbelief. “Hell no, I will _actually_ die if I ever get hit by a car.”

 

“Ride public transportation.”

 

Desmond groaned. “Look, can we figure this out later? I'm trying to not fall over.” He went back to hobbling around on one crutch, trying to make it to the kitchen. Then he looked up. “I don't even have a license!”

 

“Well, you'd best start working on that!” Shaun went back to cooking, running thoughts over and over in his head.

 

That could have been much worse. Desmond could have died, and he wasn't taking it seriously. He clenched his jaw.

 

He'd never had to think about losing him before.

 

He shook his head. Later. When he could get Desmond to bloody _listen_ and have a serious conversation. Later.

 

\--

 

If Shaun hadn't reminded him over and over that he would heal faster if he didn't move, Desmond would have been scaling buildings by now. He could semi-walk, semi-hobble on one crutch now, and he jumped at the chance to go back to school. Shaun drove him, he worked his freaking ass off, then Shaun drove him back.

 

And six excruciatingly boring weeks later, he could walk. His shoulder was almost healed, and he went back to normal things. He did have to ride public transportation though, since his bike was wrecked and he didn't feel like riding with one hand when the smallest hit to his shoulder could break it again.

 

And so, life was normal. The semester passed quickly, and he had to really work to catch up, but he did it. Life was freakin' awesome. And he could say he'd broken a bone! Yeah.

 

Riding a bicycle was lame, though... maybe he _should_ get his license. Maybe. He'd think about it. For now, he had a big term paper due in two days and he hadn't even started it.

 

… Maybe a motorcycle license would be cool. He grinned to himself.

 

\--

 

Desmond actually slam dunked his shoulder brace into the trash when he was allowed to take it off. He could work without looking like a cripple! Among other things, yeah.

 

Or course Shaun made him fish it out, because it was expensive and he wanted it for the next time Desmond broke a collar bone. Desmond was too happy to care.

 

Their anniversary was coming up again. The seventh. A lucky number! Or whatever, he'd never cared about that, but still! He was gonna make this one the best...

 

…If he could remember the date. Shit. He couldn't just ask Shaun, that would be bad. Shit, what if he just looked up that restaurant reservation from a year ago? But what if they didn't keep them in records that long? Shit, shit!

 

Okay. It would be fine. If he couldn't remember, Shaun would probably remind him. Yeah. He could do this!

 

\--

 

Shaun made sure to text Desmond and remind him _three_ times on the day, to make sure he remembered. Desmond had specifically said he'd planned something special, so he tried not to worry, but it was getting really late.

 

… Really late.

 

At eleven, he texted the idiot. _Do I need to come get you?_

 

Later, _ten bloody minutes later,_ Desmond replied _No I got it I have a ride we're stuck in traffic frick_

 

Shaun clenched his jaw, waiting.

 

\--

 

It was midnight before Desmond got home. Shaun frowned from his chair when Desmond came through the door, panting. He didn't flinch when the man crossed the room to meet him. “I'm sorry, I'm _really_ sorry, I swear I left at ten and I just--”

 

Shaun held up a hand and shook his head. “Just... stop.” He sighed, frustrated and tired. “What did you plan? You haven't told me anything.”

 

Desmond's eyebrows knit together, and he deflated, frustrated also. “I _planned_ to get back here at 10:30, then wed go see a really cool show at the concert hall at 11, and then there was a fucking _parade_ in the way and--” He grunted in frustration. “Then we'd come back and make out or something, and it would have been great, and... I fucked up.”

 

Shaun rubbed his eyes with one hand. “The parade is every year.”

 

“Yeah, well not on the same day! I just—fuck.” He turned away, hiding his face behind his hands. “It wasn't my fault, I just... I just wanted... damn it.” His voice had lost all of its power by the end of that sentence.

 

Shaun wasn't mad. It really wasn't his fault. He might have _avoided_ it if he'd cared to plan more, but... He was disappointed. And tired. And frustrated because he'd waited for _hours_ and Desmond had barely even texted him. He sighed frustratedly, and got up out of his chair. “Just... check your messages more often. I'm going to bed.”

 

Desmond turned to look at him, a little concerned. “You're... tired? You don't wanna do anything?”

 

“No, I don't.” Shite, that was a bit harsher than he'd wanted. “I have work tomorrow... you get some sleep too.” He left and walked down the hall to their room.

 

Desmond stood there watching him, his mouth hanging open a fraction. Shaun hadn't said it, but he could feel it. He didn't want Desmond to follow.

 

He panicked a little, before telling himself that Shaun was just tired and he'd be better in the morning. Yeah. He didn't hate Desmond. He was just mad. Because he'd fucked up. Damn it.

 

 _It'll be okay..._ he told himself over and over as he fell asleep on the couch.

 

\--

 

It was... bearable the next day. Shaun wouldn't say anything until after he'd had his coffee, because he'd probably sound like a complete tit. Desmond left, only saying 'bye, have a good day' before heading out the door. He obviously felt really bad about it.

 

Shaun was really bloody disappointed, though. He spent the day trying not to take it out on his students, and focusing on how to not bite Desmond's head off when he got home. Telling himself to stop being such a bloody drama queen about it.

 

Is that what he was? Really? Shite.

 

He was surprised however, when Desmond came home early. Shaun looked up from grading papers to see Desmond stumble in and catch himself, shutting the door behind him. He looked up at Shaun with the most pathetic looking face that Shaun had to force himself not to chuckle. Desmond had probably been feeling like shite all day, and he'd done nothing to alleviate that. Whoops. When Desmond looked like he was about to run away and hide in the guest room for the next decade, Shaun sighed and waved him over.

 

Desmond's eyebrows rose in surprise, relief flooding through his features. Shaun watched as the young man made his way around the couch to the desk where Shaun worked, knelt down next to his chair and stuffed his face into Shaun's shoulder. He mumbled something before Shaun told him to repeat that, unmuffled this time.

 

“'M sorry.”

 

Shaun frowned. “Are you drunk?”

 

Desmond frowned against Shaun's sleeve. “No?”

 

Shaun chuckled, embarrassed. “You sound like it.”

 

“'M tired. I didn't sleep well. I'm really sorry.”

 

He sounded so broken and pathetic. It was hard to be angry with him. Desmond went on, “I know it was important to you, and I fucked up, and I'm really sorry.”

 

Alright. That was it. That shattered Shaun's bad mood and actually made _him_ feel bad. Shite. He sighed, and brought a hand up to stroke Desmond's hair. “It's just a day. I've got thousands more with you.”

 

He felt Desmond tense up under him. “... That's the sappiest thing you've ever said to me.”

 

Shaun blew a puff of air through his nose. “And I'll have exactly five _seconds_ more with you if you don't go make dinner right now.”

 

Desmond pulled his miserable self up tentatively, and kissed him on the cheek. “I'll make it up to you, I mean it.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, hurry it up. I've only got a hundred more shite papers to read.” He grumbled at his work as Desmond chuckled.

 

\--

 

It had been _months,_ and he was still thinking about it. It had happened in December, and it was now August. This was getting ridiculous.

 

Why _did_ he care about it? It was just a day, and it only meant something because a single random event happened on that day--

 

Well. It hadn't _exactly_ been random, but. You get it.

 

Shaun frowned at his laptop, his research long-forgotten as he entered another relational crisis. There was no reason to care about an anniversary. It could have been _any_ day. The thing that mattered was that he was with Desmond, and that was it.

 

He huffed. That didn't explain why he cared so much. He heard his phone vibrate once, then again, and it didn't stop. That was a call. Nobody ever called him but Desmond. It was 10 P.M. What? He'd figure this out after he heard what the man wanted. He picked up. “Shouldn't you be working?”

 

Desmond sounded winded. _“I uh... I was. I figured I should tell you, um... I might be home later than usual. I'm not sure.”_

 

Shaun frowned. “Why?”

 

Desmond fought to catch his breath. _“I uh... I went to take out the friggen trash, and some guy jumped me. And I kinda beat the shit out of him. Police are coming to get a report.”_

 

Shaun blinked, dread pooling in his stomach. “Are you okay?” He fought to keep his voice level.

 

“ _Yeah, I just sort of reacted. Poor guy didn't stand a chance, heh. I'm sitting on him in case he wakes up.”_

 

Shaun frowned. “You didn't kill him, did you?”

 

“ _Heh, no, but I wasn't sure at first? I'm kinda freaked out, man. I had no clue what he wanted, I thought he was just gonna try and mug me? But I wasn't sure. He could have had a knife,”_ he rambled.

 

Shaun managed to get a word in and tell him to shut up, and he'd be over to pick him up when he was ready. He stayed on the phone until the police got there, for support, he reasoned.

 

Definitely not because his hand was shaking and his gut was clenching in fear. Just... calm down, man. He sat there, unable to work until Desmond called him back to pick him up.

 

\--

 

“Shaun, one guy attacked me. I'm not gonna be afraid to walk alone just because of one guy.”

 

Shaun fumed. “And what if he'd had a knife? What then?”

 

“Then I kick his ass! Seriously, I'm not gonna live my life being afraid of every random person. It was one time.”

 

“And it could happen again, do you have any idea how bloody--” Shaun shut his mouth, turning away in frustration. He was about to lay into Desmond if he didn't calm down.

 

Desmond sighed. “Okay, look. I have an idea. I've... been working on something. I actually wanted to have it ready for your birthday, so I could make up for that shitty anniversary.”

 

Shaun frowned. “What does that have to do with you being mugged?” He frowned deeper. “And it's almost our _next_ anniversary.”

 

Desmond rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. “Well, you're the one with a birthday in September, not my fault. Anyway, I wanted to show you later, for your birthday. But if it will help quell your fears now, then I'll do it.”

 

Shaun frowned with incredulity. “What?”

 

Desmond grinned wryly. “Come on outside.” He practically bounded over to the door and held it open. Shaun went through, having no idea where this was headed until he spotted the sleek motorbike parked outside next to his car.

 

“... You didn't.”

 

Desmond grinned, barely containing his excitement. “I did. I got my license last week. So, no more walking at night for me.”

 

Shaun stared at it, mouth hanging open, still frowning. Desmond's grin fell. “Um... You don't like it? I was gonna take you for a ride.”

 

“Desmond, that thing is a _death_ trap, are you serious?!” Shaun finally let out his surprise. What in the _world_ had given him the idea to get a motorcycle?

 

“Wha... No, I know how to ride it! Like, perfectly. I had no trouble learning how.”

 

“Did you actually get a motorcycle license instead of a Class C license?” Shaun stared at him, incredulous.

 

Desmond hesitated. “Um... Yeah?”

 

Shaun stared some more. “You're an idiot. You think this will make me feel better!? It's ten times worse than a bicycle, if you get hit you'll be sliding at the speed of a car instead of a bike! How could you do this without asking me first? Desmond??”

 

He stopped when he realized that Desmond was indeed listening, and had a terrified look on his face. “I... thought you'd like it.”

 

Shite. He looked so, so disappointed. He'd probably been planning this for months. Shite. “Look, Desmond... I'm just... afraid for you, okay? All I see is you crashing when I look at that thing.”

 

Desmond looked at the ground and scuffed his shoe on the cement. “I know how to ride it... I just wanted to take you somewhere on it. I wanted you to like it.”

 

Shaun folded his arms, defensively, wondering how to get out of this. The guy had just spent _how much_ on this thing!? Christ, how was he supposed to...

 

He huffed. “Just... be careful, and stay off of busy streets.”

 

Desmond raised an eyebrow tentatively. “They're all busy. And the more traffic, the better, since I can't go as fast.”

 

Shaun waved him off. “Yeah, whatever. And I am _not_ getting on that thing unless you bash me over the head and drag me.” He headed inside.

 

“Come on, it'll be fun!” Desmond followed him, bounding back inside.

 

\--

 

He hated that bike. It was an accident waiting to happen. But he also couldn't take Desmond's disappointed face whenever he talked about it. He was being careful, he should be allowed to ride it, right?

 

He sighed. Everything would be fine. Desmond wasn't stupid, he just found himself in stupid situations a lot. And he knew how to get out.

 

It didn't stop him from worrying, though. He looked at his phone, and saw that it was devoid of messages. He frowned. He texted again. _If you don't message me back in an hour, I'm barricading the door and going to bed._

 

Hopefully the idiot would see it in time. He was serious.

 

\--

 

He didn't.

 

What in the world was going on? Now he was _actually_ getting angry. Desmond _deserved_ to sleep outside. Or worse, at Flynn's place. He dozed in his chair, checking his phone periodically.

 

\--

 

It was 2 A.M.

 

What if something had happened again? It had happened before. He'd been attacked, he got hit by a car—shite, what if he was on his motorcycle, and he got hit!

 

He ended up calling the hospital. Nobody named Desmond Miles had been admitted.

 

He waited thirty minutes then called again, in case he was riding in an ambulance. Still nothing. Desmond wasn't picking up his cell phone.

 

… He got up and grabbed his keys. If Desmond was screwing around at the bar, ignoring his phone, he was going to seriously regret it.

 

\--

 

He pushed the door to the bar in, and the weight of the atmosphere threatened to swallow him. He hated places like these, unless he was blind drunk and couldn't care less if his eardrums were bursting. The music droned and grated against his brain, and all he wanted was to find his idiot boyfriend and slug him in the face.

 

He went up to the main bar where he knew Desmond worked, and had to yell to get the guy's attention.

 

“I'm looking for Desmond Miles!”

 

The guy leaned over, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry, man! He left hours ago. You a friend?”

 

Shaun glowered at him. “Do you know where he _went?_ ”

 

The man shifted uncomfortably. “He said he had a date! Left at like, ten.”

 

Shaun fumed. “Yes. He had a date with _me._ And he won't answer his phone.”

 

The man's face blanched. “Wait, you? Oh, shit.”

 

Shaun rubbed his eyes with one hand, his exhaustion making him more than a little snippy. “Do you have _any_ idea where he went?”

 

The man's mouth opened and closed like a bloody fish. Just _say_ something, already! “Uh... Are you sure we're talking about the same guy?”

 

Shaun squinted incredulously, and answered, “How many other guys named Desmond work here? He's about my height, twenty-five, scar on the right side of his upper lip?”

 

The man stood there, stunned. “ Um... I don't think he's the type to do this, but you think he went out with someone else?”

 

Shaun clenched his jaw and blew a wave of hot air out his nose, then turned and left. The guy was bloody useless. He pulled his phone out again, and dialed as he went out the door, glad to be rid of the mind-numbing music. He stood for a few seconds, listening to the dial before pacing down the alleyway.

 

Then he heard it. A vibration.

 

Desmond's voicemail came up again, and he hung up and called again. No, it couldn't be.

 

He heard it again. He followed the sound around the corner, next to a trash can. Something was vibrating against the trash can there, making a racket. He looked down and picked it up. Opened it. Sure, it looked like Desmond's phone, but it could be anyone's, right?

 

Opened it up to see who was calling. On the screen was the name “Limey Nerd” with a picture of Shaun scowling at the camera. It was Desmond's.

 

He'd dropped his fucking phone on the way out to his bike.

 

What a fucking idiot.

 

That's what he wanted to think, over and over. But all that he could feel was crippling fear because _he left six hours ago._

 

Where did he go? He fought to control himself, taking deep breaths. Desmond was probably in yet _another_ unfortunate situation, like he somehow got _kidnapped_ by one of his friends and he would get home at 6 A.M. And beg forgiveness.

 

Either that, or he was dead in an alley somewhere

 

Shaun called the police.

 

\--

 

He got exactly _no_ sleep that night. Morning. Whatever. He was huddled in his chair in the living room with a nonstop supply of coffee to keep him awake and jittery while he waited for a phone call from the precinct saying they found Desmond.

 

Or his body.

 

Stop fucking thinking like that.

 

He was going to have a heart attack if he kept this up. He was sure there was a limit on how much coffee was healthy.

 

He actually googled it. 80 to 100 cups of coffee was the lethal dose. Shite. He could keep drinking.

 

Where the fuck was Desmond, he was going insane. He was going to kill that idiot.

 

He jumped and spilled his coffee when he heard his phone. He set it aside, cursing softly, and picked up the phone to an officer's voice.

 

Nothing, yet. They would let him know if they found anything.

 

He was going to scream. He got a pillow to cover his face if that happened.

 

Three days later.

 

Nothing.

 

Shaun sat at his desk at school, doing his best to actually grade papers and not just write a bit “F” at the top, because he was bloody tired but he _had_ to keep his mind occupied or he would actually come undone and kill someone. He would have left his door locked to signify that no, he did not have office hours today, but he needed the students walking in and asking him stupid questions.

 

If the police hadn't found anything by now, something was definitely wrong.

 

Stop thinking bad things, stop it, stop it, oh good a student yes. “Yes, can I help you?”

 

The girl looked down at him from the other side of the desk, toting a messenger bag. “Yeah, I was wondering, you know Desmond Miles?”

 

Shaun's stomach plummeted. There was no good reason she would ask something like that. “He was a student of mine. What are you asking?” He kept his voice level. Don't give anything away, don't--

 

“Look, I'm not a student. You don't have to worry. I was... hoping I could help you, and you help me in return. We're looking for him.”

 

Shaun frowned, studying her. “What are you on about?”

 

“Look, we could really use your skills on our team. But I can't really talk about it here, so we'd have to step outside.”

 

Shaun stared for a good few seconds before responding. “What group? Who are you?”

 

The girl sighed, impatient, then answered quietly. “Look, we know who took him. Will you help?”

 

Shaun froze, the blood draining from his face. “Took him?”

 

The girl nodded. “The cops aren't gonna do shit. We're gonna need all the help we can get to get him back. You up for it?”

 

Shaun stared at the desk in front of him for a long moment. The decision was made for him. “Yeah.” He got up, grabbed his coat and his bag, left all his school papers and just left.

 

\--

 

Her name was Rebecca. She knew Desmond's father. She was an assassin. They weren't crazy. And if she hadn't backed everything up with evidence, he wouldn't have believed her.

 

But he still would have gone because he was going insane from sitting around, doing nothing. He'd heard of Abstergo, knew how big they were, heard all the dark rumors... he'd neglected them in favor of a plush, carefree lifestyle with the most amazing man he'd ever had the privilege of knowing. A man that apparently was wanted by the most powerful company in the world.

 

If he'd just noticed sooner, if he'd _cared_ to notice...

 

He shook his head, and got out of the van. Rebecca and he would stake out in this warehouse until they somehow got Desmond out of the shite situation he'd gotten himself into. He'd be put to work doing what he did best—tearing apart secrets and making connections, analyzing history and using it to find meaning in modern life.

 

This “animus” thing might help find _actual_ meaning, if what Rebecca said was true. All he could do now was wait for her friends to rescue Desmond, then lock him in a room so he could never be in danger again. Good plan. It's what he told himself while he went insane waiting.

 

\--

 

Their team was decimated.

 

The only people that could have saved Desmond were dead. They said they'd kill Desmond when they were through with him. He was dead. Shaun was dying. He couldn't do this. Someone get a gun and shoot him now--

 

“Okay. Okay, I just gotta send another message to her. Keep an eye on that surveillance.” Rebecca went right to work without another word. She was a trooper.

 

And all Shaun could do was stare at Desmond to make sure he was alive.

 

\--

 

They were finished. They had everything they needed. They were about to send Desmond to be killed when this woman, Lucy stepped in. She would help. She would try.

 

Shaun tried not to get his hopes up.

 

\--

 

She did it. She was driving, she would be here in a few minutes, Desmond was safe for now, he was trying not to jump out of his fucking chair and run outside--

 

They came through the door. Lucy, then Desmond. He was alive. He was okay.

 

Desmond looked around, dazed. He probably had only a vague idea of what was going on. Then he spotted Shaun and his eyes widened. “Shaun--? What the hell are you doing here?”

 

 

Shaun immediately got up, walked over and punched him in the face.

 

Desmond cried out and stumbled back, holding his face. “What the fuck!?”

 

Shaun fumed. “What was it you said? You could handle whoever tried to mug you? What did I fucking tell you!?”

 

Lucy looked between them, unsure if she should step in. “You two know each other?”

 

Desmond looked warily at Shaun. “Yeah, real well. It wasn't my fucking fault, there were two of them!”

 

Shaun stepped forward and grabbed Desmond by the front of his hoodie, hauled him up, slammed him against the wall and kissed him.

 

Lucy stared. “... Oh.”

 

Rebecca laughed nervously. “Yeah, I probably should have warned ya.”

 

Lucy shook her head. “Okay, that happened. Um, we have a lot of work to do if we're going to get ahead of Abstergo, so we should start soon. We'll... give you a few minutes.” She pulled Rebecca away from her baby to go into another room.

 

Shaun finally pulled away, holding Desmond away from him. “Do you have any idea how bloody worried I was?”

 

Desmond panted. “Yeah, I figured... I'm really sorry, okay? I didn't plan on getting kidnapped and thrown into a machine halfway around the world.”

 

“It was because of the motorcycle, you know. That's how they found you so easily.”

 

“You don't think they could have just looked at my school records?”

 

“Yes, but I hate that bike. Get rid of it.”

 

“You can break it yourself if we get out of here alive, baby.”

 

Shaun wrapped his arms around the man, his fingers burying themselves into his hoodie. He rested his forehead on Desmond's shoulder, not caring for all the world that he was vulnerable. Fuck everything, he'd almost lost the one bloody person he'd ever cared about--

 

The one person who understood that no, he wasn't okay, no he didn't want to talk about it, and all he wanted was a few minutes of fucking peace before they jumped into hell again. Desmond hesitated, then just held him.

 

They'd get through this. They'd fight back soon enough, and Abstergo would wish they'd never messed with Shaun Hastings.

 

But for now, this was what he wanted. Just a few minutes, then he'd get to work.

 


End file.
